








library of congress, 

%Jp. - Gopijrirjfjt l}a.. 

Shelf .lEltT.. 


LSia, 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 




















































1 


t- 






V 


















POEMS 


AND 


ADDRESSES 

BY 


✓ 

Manlius Thompson Flippin. 

<i 




/ 


CHICAGO: 

American Publishers’ Association, 
1892. 





7 


S I (.71 


Entered according; to Act of Congress, in the year 1891, 

By Manlius Thompson Flippin, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 



DEDICATION. 

TO THE TEACHERS OF KENTUCKY, 

THAT GREAT COMPANY OF NOBLE MEN AND WOMEN, 
CHILDREN, AND THE FUTURE OF OUR BELOVED 
IN WHOSE HANDS REST THE DESTINIES OF OUR 
COMMONWEALTH, THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY 
DEDICATED BY 


The Author. 




I hold it truth with him who Sing'S 
To one clear harp in divers tones, 

That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things. 

Alfred Tennyson. 


Teach your proud will to make those nobler choices 
Which bring to soul and heart enduring health; 

Deafen your ears to these contending voices; 

Look in your heart, learn your own being’s wealth, 

Its resource vast, its undiscovered treasure 
Waiting for these same idle hands to mine. 

Dare not to sound its deptli or take its measure 
By any human gauge or finite line. 

Rose Elizabeth Cleveland. 


Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul. 

As the swift seasons roll! 

Leave thy low-vaulted past! 

Let each new temple, nobler lhaD the last. 

Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

Till thou at length art free, 

Leaving thine out-grown shell by life’s unresting sea. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 


PREFACE. 

The preface of a book sometimes serves to sound 
its praises, and still more frequently as an apology for 
its publication. This one is not intended for either 
purpose, but merely as an explanation. The author 
does not suppose this will prove a startling or sensa¬ 
tional book. It makes no claim to great originality or 
profundity of thought. It only appears in this form 
in response to numerous and cordial solicitations from 
the author’s friends and acquaintances, in whose schol¬ 
arly attainments and literary tastes he has the fullest 
confidence. He has, indeed, been gratified to know 
that as these productions of verse and prose have ap¬ 
peared, from time to time, in the public prints, they 
have been favorably received and preserved in scrap¬ 
books, by persons of liberal culture and acknowledged 
literary taste and judgment. 

The scraps of verse appearing in the book are not 
the outgrowth of studied and persistent effort; but, 
without exception, have been composed during the 
brief intervals of rest from active business, and from 
the labors of an arduous and exacting profession. It 
is not, therefore, expected that they will prove a rich 
mine of thought, fancy and expression to the hyper¬ 
critical literary recluse; nor have they been elaborated 
or finished with such purpose. It is hoped, however, 
that the masses of the people, and especially the young, 
who are certainly more unsophisticated, and possibly 


PREFACE. 


.more lenient, may find in them at least some grains 
of truth, some touches of sentiment and some shades 
of thoughts worth a passing study. Whilst critics may 
regard them as imperfect, the writer himself is not 
unmindful of their shortcomings, and can only plead 
in extenuation, that, for want of time, or for want of 
talents, he was unable to make them better. 

Furthermore, the author has been persuaded by 
eminent teachers, and others engaged in educational 
work, that some of the poems and most of the addresses 
would meet with hearty appreciation on the part of 
teachers and students in Kentucky schools; and that 
if published in book form, parts of them might be used 
to advantage in the schools for readings and recitations. 
The Addresses relate chiefly to educational topics, and 
are mainly directed to the aspiring and laudably am¬ 
bitious young men and women of our country. The 
author, therefore, takes advantage of the liberal offer 
of his publishers, in order to collect these fragments of 
verse and prose, and place them within easy reach of 
all who may think to find in them something worth 
studying, remembering and putting into practice. 

With the faith that there is not a line in the 
book unfriendly to religion and virtue, and with the 
hope that careful study of the work may relieve the 
tedium of some idle hours, develop some good lessons, 
encourage and foster the love of country, and awake 
some incentives to noble effort, the author submits 
this volume to a just, discriminating and intelligent 
public. M. T. F. 

Tompkinsyille, Ky. June 1,1891 


CONTENTS 

POEMS. 


The Southland 
A Dream 

Leaves from an Idyl 
The Miniature City 
Autumn - 
A Reverie - 

Rome .... 
The Sailor Doy’s Love 
Do You Remember? 

The Days of Other Years 

Best Things 

Music 

Infelicitas 

I Think of Thee 

Hallowed Ground 

Our Soldier Dead 

My Home ... 

Why They Sing 

Fancy Pencilings - 

Frankfort Cemetery - 

Twilight 

Constancy ... 

To the West Wind 
The Real 

Remember Me ... 

Drift, Drift 

Letters - 

Don’t Kick 

Never Despair 

Song of the Old Soldier - 

Have Courage and Move Onward 

Beyond - - - 

The Mystic River - 

Twenty Years Ago 


Page. 

- 11 
13 

- 16 
25 

- 31 
32 

- 35 
36 

- 38 
38 

- 40 
41 

- 42 
4o 

- 43 
44 

- 45 

46 

47 

- 48 

50 

- 51 

51 

52 

- 53 
54 

- 54 


58 

59 
64 
66 

* 67 
68 


Contents 


A Little While - - - - - - 69 

The Closing Scene ----- 70 

EARLY POEMS. 

The Hero - - - - - - -71 

Reminiscences ------ 73 

Home - . - - - - - -74 

Friendship ------ 74 

Song or the Cavalier - - - - - - 75 

Lines, Inscribed to Myrtillis 76 

Lines, Written in an Album - - - - - 76 

The Warrior and the Scholar - ... 77 

Night - - - - - - • -79 

I’ll Not Forget ------ 80 


ADDEESSES. 


The Kentucky Teacher and his Mission - - 81 

Passion ------ - 101 

Ambition -------105 

We Must Educate - - - - • - 110 

Poetry and its influence 113 

Good Reading - - - - - - - 117 

Books and Models ----- 121 

Gen. Wm. T. Haskell - - - - - - 135 

Eulogy on David Crockett 143 

Address or Welcome — Delivered at a Soldiers’ Re-union at Indi¬ 
an Creek, Ky., Sept. 15,1837 - - - - 152 

Washington — Address delivered at Tompkinsville, Ky., Feb. 22, 


1890 - - - - - - - - 157 

Address —Delivered at a Soldiers’ Re-union at Tompkinsville, 
Ky., Sept. 18, 1889 ----- 163 

Speculative Masonry - - - - - - 170 

Address of Welcome — Delivered at a Soldiers’ Re-union at Fount¬ 
ain Run, Ky., Sept. 18,1885 181 

Intellectual Culture - - - - - 194 


POEMS 


THE SOUTHLAND. 

INSCRIBED TO THE TEACHERS OF KENTUCKY. 

0 realm of the Southland ! fair clime of the sun! 
Whose birds and whose blossoms enrapture the sight; 

Whose valleys of emerald and mountains of dun, 

Smile sweetly in day-time, and gleam through the night. 

The sheen of thy meadows, the blue of thy sky, 

Shine on and forever with passionate glow; 

And the morn, noon and evening unfold to the eye, 
Thy wild wealth of flowers of crimson and snow. 

There the best gifts of spring-time forever remain, 

And the fruit and the blossom their seasons prolong; 

There the sweet-scented breezes float over the plain, 
And bear on their bosoms the incense of song. 

There the queen-like palmetto, the myrtle and vine, 
And the wild waste of blossoms environ the maze; 

While the moss-covered cypress and whispering pine, 
Throw over the valleys a soft summer haze. 

’Tis there the weird moonbeams are wandering through 
The ruins of castles distinguished in story, 

And there that the shimmer and sparks of the dew, 
And the shine of the astral unite in their glory. 


t 



12 


POEMS. 


It is there, it is there that the murmuring palm 
Bends over and kisses the clear crystal wave; 

It is there that the flow’rets in the night’s holy calm, 
Dip down in the waters, their beauties to lave. 

O beautiful Southland ! the shrine of the heart! 

Land of the banana, and lemon and lime ! 

No sky and no clouds, no sun can impart 
Such a wild wealth of passion as glows in thy clime. 

And oh! with what fervor the heart must adore 
The notes of thy soft harp, the song of thy bird; 
While the sea-waves that break on thy gray, rocky shore, 
Make music the wildest the ear ever heard ! 

Thy picture, bright clime, shall glow in my breast, 

Thy sun-rays, in fancy, around me shall beam; 

And shrined in my heart still thy glories shall rest 
Forever and aye, like some beautiful dream. 

Smile on, blessed land! thou art lovely and lorn, 

With thy deep-tangled wild-woods and shadowy hills; 
Still back on the tide of my mem’ry is borne 
The sound of thy cascades, the song of thy rills. 

O bright sunny South ! though shattered and torn, 
And rent by the strife of the war-darkened years; 
Though broken and bleeding, and mangled and shorn, 
Thy beauty and glory still smile through thy tears ! 

And now that the war-cloud obscures thee no more, 
Remember thine honor, thy glory remains; 

And the wealth and the worth that adorned thee of 
yore, 

Shall, Phoenix-like, rise from the wreck of thy plains ! 


POEMS. 


13 


A DREAM. 

I had a dream, and it was all a dream — 

A fantasy, a myth, a strange bright dream ! 

I thought my pilgrim feet had pressed the strand 
Of a far sea, begemmed with golden sand. 

I listened to the murmur of the floods, 

And heard their voices echo from the woods; 

Soft winds made music in the bending trees; 

Rare flowers shed their perfume on the breeze; 

Strange birds did wheel and circle in the air, 

And all seemed everlasting summer there. 

Dark forms, strange faces came and went, and went 
And came, by me unheeded. All seemed bent 
On missions that I knew not of. I dreamed 
Again, a brief, sweet dream! And then there seemed 
To be beside me one not all unknown— 

A sylph-like form, and spirit like my own. 

There was no need of dull, cold words to tell 

Us who each other w r ere, for quick and well 

Did recognition come. Ah ! then the scene 

Was changed —the sky more bright, the forest green; 

The ocean voices sweeter grew; more clear 

The silver wave; the mountains grander were. 

And I beheld that glorious Thought had placed 
Its chisel to her features, and had traced 
The lines of fadeless beauty there; not such 
Beauty as men call beautiful; but much 
More ’during beauty. I saw that Feeling, too, 

Had touched her face with its most radiant hue. 

Her form the slight and graceful tenement 
Did seem, of a great soul — a soul which blent 
Its grandeur and its loveliness with all 
Uer gentle tones and lofty thoughts. A tall 
s ne peak stood near us; and we sought a wav 
That upward winding went; we reached bower. 


14 


POEMS. 


Half in that Alpine bosom hid, where flower, 

And bird, and balm, kept vigil all the day. 

And southward spread a plain, where fruity tree 
And tropic blossom shone—beneath, the sea, 

The crystal sea, kissed by the setting sun; 

And backward far, high, misty mountains shone. 

Ah! “Home is where the heart is,” said the sage; 
And thus it is and must be e’er; an age 
Seems oft concentered in an hour like this — 

This fleeting empire of a perfect bliss! 

And we two seemed at home ! we gazed upon 
Each other long, and then upon the sun, 

And sea, and clouds, and vine, and dewy flower. 

To us the winds and waves their myst’ries taught; 

The sea-shells sung for us, and zephyrs brought 
Their music to us. There and thus we thought — 
And talked through twilight’s youngest, holiest hour. 
Again I dreamed. And was it all a dream — 

A phantom, or a voiceless, truthless dream? 

I thought there might be in that bosom things 
The world knew not, and in that heart some strings 
Ne’er touched by mortal fingers, far or near— 

Some harmonies the world could never hear. 

Upon that heart, I thought, might rest a shade 
That dimmed its joyous summer noon, and made 
A wan hue for all things. But if there were 
It vanished then, and left that heart-sky clear. 

And then I thought that all was bright again, 

As sunbeams are that follow after rain. 

The dream-mist vanished then, and then I knew 
How real Dreamland is, and felt how true 
To iife its visions are. How oft as through 
The fleeting fantasy called Life, we move 
Along our shadowy way, some deathless love 
Seems swift to bless our lot! Alas ! how strange, 

How sad or joyful, ah! how passing strange. 


rOEMS. 


15 


Two being over seas unknown should cross, 

Unheeding death, escaping wreck and loss, 

And all unconsciously they yet should bend 
Each wayward, wand’ring step to this one end — 

That out of darkness they should meet, and rise 
To read life’s meaning in each other’s eyes ! 

Ah I me; how strange that two should blindly bear 
Their course along some path, and yet so near 
Their whisp’rings might be heard, their hands might 
meet, 

And know it not, till Fate should guide their feet 
Into each other’s path — till each should iind 
A twin in hope and faith, in heart and mind! 

O somber thought! O sadness, more than pain, 

To know these longing lips may call in vain 
To ears that never hear, or hear too late ! 

Ah 1 this dispels the dream, and this is Fate. 

The world is cold, I said, and has been drear — 
But now pale Hope returns. These mountains wear 
A more than wonted loveliness; the sea, 

The sun and sky seem brighter now to me; 

While over these discordant years of pain 
There ripples now a touching, silvery strain. 

Ah ! how can I, in coming time, forget, 

Or how can I recall, without regret, 

The pale, sweet face I dreamed I saw and knew, 

In that dream so fleeting and yet so true ? 

And now the frost of Fate lies cold and white 
Upon the dream of mine that summer night, 

And now a great wide chasm lies grim between 
The dreamer and the things that might have been; 

Nor look, nor voice, nor word, nor pen can tell 
How sad to wake from dream so sweet. Farewell! 


16 


POEMS. 


LEAVES FROM AN IDYL. 


CANTO FIRST. 

These two, a maiden and a youth were there 
Gazing- —the one on all that was beneath, 

Fair as herself— but the boy gazed on her; 
And both were young, and one was beautiful. 

—Byron. 

"No, no,” she said, “the waves may fling 
Their whiteness on the sea — 

Nor time, nor tide, nor death shall bring 
Forgetfulness to me.”— Stanton. 


Two dewy morns in May had come and gone, 
And flushed with shining dew and fragrant flower, 
The third sweet morning waned toward the noon. 
The elm’s deep shade fell coolly on the sward, 

Whose velvet carpet softly lined the bank 
Of that low-murmuring, long-remembered brook. 

The young green leaves of the adjacent grove 
Were rocked and cradled by the bird-soDg wave 
That trembled on the balmy air. * * * 

’Twas on such lovely morn two beings met, 

And on their glowing cheeks that summer day 

Abode the rosy hues of youth; and in 

Their deep and dream-lit eyes might have been seen 

The meaning tokens of a slumbering world 

Of budding, pent-up feeling. But no hand 

Had ever swept the still but willing chords 

Of their young hearts. 

The one, a youth, was not ungainly shaped — 
Had classic face and curling, raven locks, 

And dark and deep-set, bashful eyes that told 
The depths of the great fountain in his '‘wt, 
the other gloriously-featured was; 


POEMS. 


Her silken bands of golden hair did seem 
Almost to hide her forehead, wide and high 
And white; her brows appeared as if they bent 
Away, away, and rainbow-like reached realms 
Of uncreated light. And in the blue 
And mazy depths of her soul-speaking eyes, 

Might have been seen and read the mystic forms 
And language of all things the mind and heart 
Call beautiful. Her voice did not seem like 
A mortal voice, but like the liquid notes 
Of far-off water-falls, it did so touch 
The heart, and sweep through all its chords. 

Albeit, their first bright hour, on silken wings, 

Wore rapidly away, and they were parted. 

But all that day to him that valley seemed 
Like some divinely haunted place, where forms 
Of angel beauty had been wandering. 

To him the eve wore thoughtfully away, 

The pensive twilight came, and brought with it 
The fancied whisperings of her dear voice; 

And in its dusky livery, he seemed 
To think he saw outlined her lovely form. 

The night to him brought long and wakeful hours; 
And afterward sweet sleep his pillow blest 
With dreams that he and she should meet again, 

And love each other in the years to come. 

The years went slowly on ! and she was gone 
Gone to her distant mountain home beyond 
The placid Ohio, whose waters cleave 
Their sparkling pathway through the giant hills; 

And they were parted — still they talked; their words 
Were not of breath, but voiceless ones, evoked 
By that enchanter called a pen — that frail 
And fragile thing, yet mightier than the sword. 

O Letters, ye are mightier than tongues! 

Whom none could e’er persuade, thou hast convinced; 


18 


POEMS. 


What none could else have clone, thou hast achieved 
The past, the present and the hidden years 
To come, and time and vast eternity 
Shall chronicle the conquests thou hast wrought, 

But oh! ye rhyming throng that used of old 
To bathe your temples in Parnassian dews, 

And wake the Attic song, when Learning shone 
Fresh in her radiant youth, and tripped along 
The iEgean isles; or ye in later time, 

Who breathed th’ impassioned strain along the banks, 
The classic banks of Avon or the Doon; 

Or ye who trod Loch Catrine’s storied shore, 

Inspired with sOng,—why have ye left untold, 
Unsung, the ecstasies that tremble through 
The heaving breast, while nervous lingers break 
The seal that clasps a missive from the loved ? 

O princes of the tuneful art, this theme 
Were lit to wake your highest minstrelsy! 

The wooing throng of fluttering delights 
That wanton in the joyous, pulsing heart 
When all alone, from vulgar sight retired, 

We break the seal and look on lines a loved 
And far-off one hath traced, the inexperienced 
Ne’er can know. The breathless words, not clogged 
And burdened with the needless trash of sound, 
Grow in the heart. We laugh or weep with him 
Or her, the dearest idol of our heart. 

Perchance we find, far hid away beneath 
The dreamy lines, the spirit of a dear 
And lingering caress—a fancy-touch 
Of hands or lips; for thus the spirit may 
O’erleap the intervening hills or seas, 

And finds its other self. 

The months went on ! 

And oft in midnights sentimental hour, 

Or, ’neath the golden willow’s pliade, or on 


POES. 


19 


The wooded mountain-side, while up the vale 
Aurora’s dawning glories streamed, and sweet 
The matin music breathed around, she read 
And read, and mused upon his written words. 

And when the dawn threw on the valley’s lap 
Its thousand pearly drops to wake the flowers, 

She then resumed her heart-warm thoughts of him. 

Two flying years went by! To some their sands 
Ran ashes, and to some ran golden beads. 

These were the birth-years of some glorious hopes; 
They rang the death-knell of some withered joys; 

They heard the laugh of revelry, the wail 
Of broken hearts. For some they wove the links — 
The shining links — of friendship’s golden chain; 

For others they did break the links that had 
Been wrought by other years. Success, defeat, 

Hope, fear, love, hate, the mystery of pain 
And pleasure all went by upon their tide; 

But unto these young hearts whose tale we tell, 

They brought the bud and blossom of a love 
That lit or darkened all their after lives. 

(Lit or darkened? we shall see !) 

* * * 

Two years had gone ! The warm sun cast his flood 
Of golden beams upon the vocal groves 
And fruity hills, on a calm August eve, 

On which the earth and air and sky and sun 
Wrought rarest pictures of their loveliness. 

On such an eve, a horseman, northward bound, 

Rode rapidly along the hills and vales, 

And lanes and hedges. When the eve sent up 
The purple western sky her flush of wine, 

Alanson stood within the spacious hall 
Of Clara’s transient home. Ah ! there are times 
And moments in this varied dream called life, 

In which the raptures of an age seem blent 


20 


POEMS. 


Into a single hour; and thus it seemed 
To these two on that pensive summer eve. 

* * * 

No common, hackneyed topics furnished themes 
Tor them, while through the night the silk-winged hours 
Wore rapidly away; but mind and heart and soul 
And books and learning and fair poesy 
Their subjects were; and chief of all, their own 
Romantic love, the central thought, they coursed 
About, and lastly dove-like settled there. 

O Dreamland ! how fantastic and how bright 
How passing beautiful thy mystic realms! 

Ye are the mystery of mysteries; 

Ye show us beings brighter than have been, 

And flow’rs and gardens such as earth hath not. 

Utopia is thy name, and Dead-sea fruits 
Grow hard beside thy dim cathedral walks. 

But though thouTt false, thou’rt sometimes beautiful; 
And thou didst sing for these young hearts a song 
Their waking hours were destined ne’er to hear, 

And thou didst paint for them a landscape which 
They ne’er again should see, and thou didst bend 
Across thy weird and jewelled sky, a bow 
Of glorious promise, ne’er to be fulfilled. 

But when the morn sent up the eastern sky 
Her struggling matin beams, the dark clouds lowered; 
The slow, sad rain, with wizard harmonies, 

Came pattering on the roof; the vaporous mist 
Stood thick about, and ghost-like clouds crept by, 

And shed their cold and silent tears, as though 
They wept o’er bright hopes doomed to early wreck. 

* * * 

Parting! O bitterest pang that ever rent a heart, 

Or crept like desolation through a breast, 

Thy name is Parting ! But farewells must be. 


POEMS. 


21 


O Absence ! Thou art continuity 
Of parting with the being who hath power 
To keep our heart of hearts and life of life! 

Thou art the skeleton in all our feasts, 

The Upas breath that nips and blights the flow’rs 
That else might bloom in gardens of the heart. 
Absence ! Who doth not know and hath not felt 
Its slow consuming woes?—the widowhood 
• Of its bleak, sunless days and gloomy nights? 

If parting with the loved were sudden death, 

Then absence would be dissolution wrought 
By slow degrees, and torture long drawn out. 


CANTO SECOND. 


’Tis better to have loved and lost, 

Than never to have loved at all,— Tennyson. 

But never either found another 

To free the hollow heart from paining: — 

They stood aloof, the scars remaining-. 

Like cliffs that had been rent asunder.—C oleridge 

Some honors sought him in his deep retreat, 
And bound a bay-leaf to his marble brow. 

He stood amid the magnates of the land, 

And heard the midnight revels of the great; 

But from the banquet-hall he turned and sought 
A moonlit scene along some craggy steep, 

Beside whose base the murm’ring waters stole, 

And mirrored in their shining crystal flood, 

The thousand stars that gemmed the beryl sky; 

Or else he wandered where the warrior oak 
And whispering pine, upon the wind-swept hill, 



22 


POEMS. 


Cast anchor in the gray and rifted rocks; 

And in the lone, dim loveliness of night, 

Communed with his strange thoughts, and seemed to 
The phantom form and pale sweet face of her, 

The idol of his heart. Her spirit-tones 
Seemed borne to him upon the fitful breeze, 

In accents low and gentle as the sweep 
Of angel wings; or when his waning lamp 
Wrought wizard pictures on the midnight walls, 
He’d take his faithful harp, and from its chords 
Call forth some wailing notes like these, to soothe 
The wild and fitful pulsings of his his heart: 

I’ve wandered through the heather wild, 

My bosom light and free from care, 

But wretched felt because there was 
No kindred heart the scene to share. 

I’ve stood upon the lonely hill, 

And watched the evening glories shine, 

And yet was sad because I had 
No gentle hand to hold in mine. 

I’ve traveled far life’s shad’wy path, 

And sought and hoped in vain for rest, 

And found it not, for want of some 
Dear head to pillow on my breast. 

Oh ! tell me not that fame or gold 
Can make this pathway bright; 

Without the heart that love endears 
The world is all one rayless night. 

What wild and glorious minstrelsy is thine,- 
What respite from the starless gloom of woe, 


POEMS. 


What antidote for every shape of ill 
Belongs to thee, O harp of golden strings! 

Why should the willing tongue or meaning eye, 

Or pent-up feelings ever speak, when thou 
Canst breathe their very soul so sweetly well ? 

Dear, faithful harp ! When all things else are false, 
Thou still remainest true. Thou art a friend 
When glorious sunshine gilds our sky of life, 

And when that sky is flecked with clouds and gloom, 
’Tis thine, ’tis thine to sweep our load of grief 
Into the Lethean wave. And now my harp, 

Resume the weeping willow; for the dark 
And sable hues are deepening, and the Night, 

From her meridian throne, encurtains all. 

And now the fitful voices of the breeze 
Sing through the leafless branches of the grove, 

And bear away thy faint receding tones, 

Commingled with their wilder harmonies, 

* * * 

Another year went by! .A horseman stood 
Upon the broad Ohio’s rocky bank, 

And while he waited for the boatman’s barge 
To cross the stream, he looked away and saw 
A tall white mansion on the rounded crest 
Of a green hill, whose gentle slope ran down 
Quite to the river’s brink. And then, ere long, 
Again he stood within the vine-clad porch 
Where morning-glories grew and shed their bloom, 
And multifloras twined. The sun’s pale beams 
Shone in, and wrought their network on the floor; 

He heard her elfin footfalls coming near, 

And shuddered and drew back, advanced again, 

Then Clara stood before him, pale and wan, 

And disconcerted, as he thought; but he, 

With effort of strong will, seemed coldly calm, 

And smiled a half reproachful, vacant smile, 


24 


POEMS. 


And bent in low and formal obeisance. 

At this a blank astonishment did seem 
To work its strange contortions on her face. 

She then went near, as if afraid to trust 
Her own too woful fears, and offered him 
Her hand, as she’d have done if they had met 
Full in the noon of their unclouded love; 

But as a stranger would, he touched her hand, 

A slight quick pressure, and he bowed again, 

And passed into the room. 

The eve wore on ! 

The glorious sunshine fell on lofty hill 

And valley deep, and maize-field by the stream, 

And birds made music in the apple-grove; 

But song and sunshine from their hearts had fled. 
Distrust and doubt, and ill-suppress’d reproach, 
Now chilled the fountain of their love, which late 
Had sparkled in the sun. 

* * * 

Alas! 

How slight a cause may move distrust and doubt 
Between two hearts that deeply, wildly love! 

The simplest word or look, with meaning plain, 

Is colored by a fancy thus inflamed, 

With jealous hue, and wholly misconstrued, 

While the upbraiding tone and sharp retort 
Will wider cut and deeper wear the chasm. 

* * * 

And thus they parted! ’Twas a scene to chill 
The warmest blood, a madness of farewells ! 

Time sped along. Each was too proud, too strong 
To ask the other why that cloud so long 
Hung in their sky. The seasons rolled away — 

They never met again; and still that cloud 
Obscures their sky; but not so like a pall 
As once it seemed; for now the blue of heaven 


^OEMS. 


25 


Gleams dimly through its billowy folds, and round 
Its edge are streakings of the silvery light. 

Perhaps some wiser grew these youthful hearts 
From sequel of this love. For, not the string 
New-drawn upon the harp doth yield its best 
And sweetest tones; but when ’tis tried and touched 
And tuned, its deep and strong vibrations give 
Its highest harmonies. ’Tis not the tree 
Hid in the breezeless vale, casts deepest down 
Its axis in the earth; but ’tis the oak, 

Upon the wind-beat hill or mountain brow, 

That, anchored in the everlasting rocks, 

And shaken by the storms, the loftiest grows. 


THE MINIATURE CITY. 

While wand’ring back in mem’ry’s maze, 
In fancy’s fondest flight, 

A beauteous city greets my view, 

And rises on my sight. 

Ah! many an eye with feeling bright, 
And hand with friendship warm, 

Come thronging back from distant days, 
And many a fairie form. 

’Tis sometimes sweet to muse on hours 
That memory endears — 

On days that cannot come again — 

Lost in the vanished years. 

In dreams I sometimes stray adown 
The vista of the past, 

Aud pause to touch some faded flow'rs 
That were to bright to last. 



26 


POEMS. 


And in the half-way spirit land, 

I see, close by my side, 

A vision of the olden time — 

A long lost image glide. 

I see the turnpike winding near, 

The bridge across the stream, 

And on the cold white snow I see 
The feeble sunshine gleam. 

I see the cottage by the road, 

And hear the voice of song; 

It sweeps across the vacant years 
That seemed so drear and long. 

And now it seems that o’er again, 

I live one vanished day, 

And see the shadowy forms I saw 
In hours so far away. 

And I recall a fair young face, 

An eye of tender blue, 

A wealth of golden-tinted curls, 

A heart so warm and true. 

Again I see a queenly form, 

And eyes as dark as night; 

And mirrored in their dreamy depths, 
A world of glorious light. 

I stray across the bridge again — 

The scene distinct as ever — 

And wander down the shady way 
Between the cliff and river. 

I see aslant the wooded heights, 

The fading sun-fires fall; 

I see the evening’s orange tints 
Glow on the steeples tall. 


POEMS. 


27 


And passing from the river road, 

And up the southern hill, 

I see the “Bird’s Nest Cottage” yet — 

How fresh in mem’ry still! 

And then I cross the “Wooden Bridge”— 
Stray down the thoroughfare, 

While twilight sweetly settles down, 

And peace reigns everywhere. 

I see two ships that left the land — 

The breeze their white sails lifting; 

I see them ride the snow-capped waves, 
Close by each other drifting! 

Oh! where are those fair dream-ships now? 
And where the freight they bore ? 

They may be wrecked on ocean rocks, 

For they returned no more. 

Perhaps their golden prows broke on 
Some far-off treach’rous strand ! 

I cannot tell, I only know 

They ne’er came back to land. 

And though these ships were freighted with 
Some hopes of loveliest hue, 

Yet they must sleep in coral graves 
Far o’er the dusky blue. 

A voice may change, long lines of grief 
May mar the*sweetest face; 

Cold may have grown the once warm heart, 
The form may lose its grace; 

And yet adown old mem’ry’s haunts, 

And in her moonlight fair, 

We see them as they used to seem, 

We meet them as they were. 


28 


POEMS. 


And who shall say this is a dream — 
The shadowy ideal ? 

This breath of song so bears me back, 
That I call it the real. 

But hush the song, my gentle muse, 
That thrills my heart the most; 
Recall not now the sleeping years, 

The dream of loved ones lost. 

That valley like an Eden smiles, 
Among the hills that rise 
Hard by the city’s outer walls, 

And pierce the deep blue skies. 

And through its bosom softly steals 
A sylvan river’s tide; 

There dear Kentucky’s waters flow, 
And murmur as they glide. 

How pleasant once, to lean upon 
Its mossy bank at night, 

And watch the sporting little barks, 
Beneath pale Luna’s light! 

How sweet to see upon its tide, 

In fairie skiff and boat, 

The maidens and the gondoliers 
Upon its bosom float! 

Ah ! see yon pretty, light canoe 
Rest gently in the*shade, 

And near its prow a manly youth, 
And near the youth a maid, 

With raven hair and willowly form, 
And eyes like the gazelle’s — 

How many a tale of love and faith 
Her gentle manner tells ! 


POEMS. 


29 


But what they think and what they speak, 
The muse must keep concealed; 

Their tender thoughts and whispered words, 
They must not be revealed. 

Their accents full of meaning fall 
But on each other’s ear; 

It were not meet such gentle words 
The heartless world should hear. 

Ah ! scarce an age hath fled away, 

Since near that river’s tide, 

The tangled wild-wood deep and dense, 
Grew by its rocky side — 

Since in the cool and breezy shade, 

And in the solitude, 

The plumed Indian warrior dark, 

The dusky maiden wooed. 

’Twas here O’Hara’s martial harp 
Its brightest lustre shed, 

And here he gave to time and fame 
“ The Bivouac of the Dead.” 

Here Ford has touched his gentle lyre 
To love-song sweet and low, 

And sung in knightly strains, “The men 
Who fought in Mexico.” 

Here Johnson’s graphic pen hath wrought 
In journalistic field; 

And still the stylus, strong and true, 

His classic fingers wield. 

And honor’s bay-leaf he shall wear — 

His work the good will bless, 

For well he’s known and fitly styled 
The Nestor of the Press. 


30 


POEMS. 


Here Wilson’s artist eye hath caught 
The glint of sylvan woods, 

The forests grim, the harvest fields, 

The peaceful solitudes. 

The russet glens, and hills and dells, 
Where timid wild-bird lingers, 

Are on the yielding canvas thrown, 

By Wilson’s classic fingers. 

Tor blade of grass and trembling leaf, 
And frail and fragrant flower — 

For morning’s blush, and still warm noon. 

And twilight’s dewy hour, 

Tliine artist-minstrel oft hath shown 
Ilis poet’s fond regard, 

And sung “ June Days” in notes so like 
His name-sake Scottish bard. 

Here Stanton’s genius caught the light 
Of hill and crag and river, 

And made it sacred, hallowed ground 
Forever and forever. 

Stanton! whose name shall take a place 
With old-time minstrels great— 
Kentucky’s gifted, favorite bard, 

Her poet laureate. 

To thee, thou city of the hills, 

My muse her tribute pays, 

As backward far I stray in dreams, 
Adown the flower-ways! 

This fleck of dream, this breath of song, 
These broken strains attest 
How near one heart thy mem’ry is, 

Thou Athens of the West! 


POEMS. 


AUTUMN. 

Spring, with her flower-crown hath fled, 
And sweet, warm summer too, 

Wflh genial skies and quiet eves, 

Has vanished like the dew. 

And now the cold autumnal wind, 

With hoarse and hollow sound, 

Is wailing through the naked trees, 

And breathing death around. 

The feathered warbles of the grove, 

That heralded the dawn, 

And sang to morning’s rosy blush — 

With summer they have gone. 

Their leafy home among the bowers, 

Alas I is bleak and bare; 

No music echoes from the glen, 

No melody is there ! 

The pale and sickly moon gleams forth, 
From out the murky sky, 

While through the damp, dark atmosphere 
The screaming night-birds fly. 

The hoarse and weeping autumn wind 
Moans through the forest bare, 

And every wailing, dirge-like sound 
Proclaims the dying year. 

Where are the flowers now that decked, 
The spring’s imperial crown, 

And where the treasures summer brought 
And lavished all around? 


32 


POEMS. 


The frost hath killed the flowers of spring, 
And nip’d the summer’s bloom; 
Remorseless Time is gathering fast 
His trophies for the tomb. 

Ah! giddy, wayward, joyous youth, 

See in the changing year, 

A perfect picture of thy life,— 

Come take a lesson here; 

And know that soon the rainbow hopes 
Of youth will all be lost, 

And pleasure’s bloom will soon be seared 
By time’s relentless frost. 

As swiftly as the winter’s breath 
Steals on the summer flowers, 

So swiftly sorrows hurries on 
To mar our happiest hours. 

That brow and eye so soft and bright, 
Where naught but joy appears — 

A cloud must soon pass over that, 

And this be dim’d with tears ! 


A REVERIE. 

’Twas summer time, and dewy night 
Had draped her curtains from the sky, 
As near my window I reclined, 

With languid limb and drowsy eye; 
While fancy painted gorgeous shapes 
To charm the dark and weary hours — 



POEMS. 


33 


While balmy sleep my senses stole, 

And I was lost in dreamland’s bowers. 

I thought I wandered through a dell 

Where sweet and brilliant flowers shone, 
At evening’s soft and hallowed hour, 

Sad, pensive, joyless and alone. 

A sylvan stream meandered through 
The verdant foliage clustering near, 

And many a strange, bright, beauteous bird 
With mellow music filled the air. 

The golden sunshine fell around, 

And mingled with the darker shade, 

And resting on the beds of flowers, 

A strong and lovely contrast made. 

No harsh discordant sound was heard, 

No shadowy clouds or somber gloom 
Hung o’er the enchanted spot, it seemed 
So like the first pure Eden’s bloom. 

I thought I saw beneath a copse 
Of deep-green hazel, thickly set, 

The finest shape, the fairest form 
My wond’ring eyes had ever met. 

We needed no dull, formal words 
To tell us who each other were; 
Instinctive recognition came, 

For kindred hearts were meeting there. 


Her face was like the morning’s blush, 
Her eyes as dark as starless night, 
And in their dreamy depths there shone 
A world of witching, dazzling light. 


34 


POEMS. 


Dark as the untamed raven’s wing 
Her flood of shining tresses hung; 

Murillo drew no face so fair, 

Nor such has Sappho ever sung. 

And through that green Arcadian grove, 

We slow and heedless roved along; 

We plucked the wild-flowers blooming near, 
And heard the feathered warbler’s song. 

We talked on many a noble theme — 

Of Nature, Music, Life and Love, 

And many a wreath of beauty rare, 

Our mutual glowing fancies wove. 

The love that’s calm and still and cold, 

The heart that’s false and doubting, too, 

Has need of eloquence to plead 

And falsely paint its changing hue; 

Not so with us, the tale was told 
Without a sigh or word of art, 

For soul had met with kindred soul, 

And heart communed with kindred heart. 

I ’woke and vainly, vainly tried 
To dream that fairy dream again; 

The vision fled, it came not back, 

’Twas but a phantom of the brain! 

Ah! such is my Ideal Girl, 

And though our eyes have never met, 

A wizard voice oft whispers me 
That I shall see and love her yet. 


POEMS. 


35 


ROME. 

Beside the Tiber’s sluggish stream, 

Behold the seven giant hills 
Gleam dark above the murm’ring rills, 
Like mountains in some troubled dream ! 

I see the sullen spider creep 

Through ruins of two thousand years ; 

I feel the bitterness of tears, 

That kings and consuls used to weep. 

I see the timid sunbeams steal 

Down through a time-worn, ruined arch, 
Where slave and master used to march 
To martial trumpet’s ringing peal. 

Again I look! and deep-blue skies 
Bend o’er the smiling, joyous earth ; 

I hear the shout, the song, the mirth 
Of plebeians and Triumvir’s rise. 

I see the shade of many a sage, 

I hear the voice of Cicero, 

And Virgil’s witch-notes soft and low, 
As in the distant Golden Age. 

I see the hues of black and green, 

I see a deeper, darker shade 
Than painter ever dared or made, 

Steal o’er the weird and haunted scene. 


36 


POEMS. 


I feel iln awful spirit-spell 

Of ages past creep o’er my soul, 

I hear the volleying thunders roll, 

The victor-shout, the fun’ral knell. 

A warlike spirit, fierce as death, 

Broods o’er these grim, majestic plains; 
And yet another spirit reigns, 

As gentle as an infant’s breath. 

I gaze again! the pageant wild, 

Of legions, banners, bugles, marches, 
Has died amid the broken arches, 
Where captives wept and victors smiled. 

But now the flashing flags are furled, 

And crumbled now the splendid dome; 
This is th’ Eternal City — Rome, 

The ancient Mistress of the World. 


THE SAILOR-BOY’S LOVE. 

Beneath yon bending willows 
A rustic cottage stands, 
Above the breaking billows 
That kiss the pebbly strands. 
There lives a pretty maiden, 
With soft and golden hair, 
And in joy or in sorrow, 

My heart is ever there. 



POEMS. 


'Twas on a summer even’ 

When flowers bloomed around, 
And on the grassy hillside, 

The springing verdure crowned,— 
Ah, there and thus at even’ 

That lovely Ocean Sprite, 

First stood before my vision, 

First met my raptured sight! 

The breeze that swept me onward, 
Soon bore my bark away, 

But I could not forget her — 

The bright-eyed, fairy fay. 

And as I played the rover 
Far o’er the glassy main, 

Her ’witching eyes and ringlets 
Would woo me back again. 

I often meet my Inez 

Near by her sea-girt home, 

And ever find her watching 
To greet me when I come. 

And oft, along the hillside, 

Down by the mossy shore, 

We’ve courted in the moonshine, 
Beside the ocean’s roar. 


38 


POEMS. 


DO YOU REMEMBER? 

Do you remember, love? Do you remember, 

How in the last year’s haze, the autumn’s bloom, 
You could not leave me quite, and did not try, 

And what you told me in the purple gloom ? 

And is all gone,—the hours of golden glory — 

And are the flowers dead you plucked of yore ? 

I hope and dream and ask and weep in vain, 

Eor winter nears us now, and you are here no more. 
The hours are sad! and yet unhappy-hearted, 

I hear a lone bird singing at the pane; 

The flowers are dead; I fear that we are parted; 

And yet, oh ! dear, shall we e’er meet again ? 

The sky is drear! The leaves are deeply lying. 

But yet I see some sunbeams on the hill. 

Dear one, I hear your tender voice replying; 

Heart of my heart, I know you love me still .* 


THE DAYS OF OTHER YEARS. 

’Tis true I may not seem to weep, 

Or grieve at gath’ring cares; 

But jealous guard doth mem’ry keep, 
O’er days of other years. 

These days may ope their golden store, 
And yield the wealth that’s theirs; 
But oh! they never can restore 
The days of other years. 



I’OEMS. 


39 


Less golden now the evening shadow, 

Or morning's blush appears; 

More bright the sheen of field and meadow, 
In days of other years. 

The moonlight on the glassy mere, 

Fond memory endears; 

How bright the birds and blossoms were 
In days of other years. 

Sometimes no joy comes to repress 
The flood of falling tears; 

And then in memory I bless 
The days of other years. 

In vain I wander in my dreams, 

From these discordant years, 

And gaze back at the light that gleams 
In days of other years. 

Dear mem’ry sometimes comes to me, 

And takes my hand in hers. 

And down her vista lets me see 
The days of other years. 

Far back in glorious setting cast, 

The brightest hour appears; 

And I must seek my joys at last 
In days of other years. 


40 


POEMS. 


BEST THINGS. 

The brightest skies are those 
That lie beyond the sight — 

Beyond the mists that dim the earth, 
In realms of fadeless light. 

The loftiest heights are those 
That few men ever climb; 

They are the goals of daring souls, 
The victors of all time. 

The deepest thoughts are those 
We meekly seek and find, 

Where everlasting silence broods 
Upon the fields of mind. 

The brightest dreams are those 
That spring to life and light, 

When deepest solitude pervades 
The darkest, drearest night! 

The warmest hearts are those 
That seldom ever tell 

Their deep, sad mysteries, but strive 
To keep and hide them well. 

The sweetest loves are those 
That never come to light; 

But sit, like Patience on her thone, 
While Hope lies out of sight. 


fcOEMS. 


41 


MUSIC. 

There’s music in the wailing wind 
That hoarsely breathes around, 

A wild and sublime symphony 
Moans in the dirge-like sound. 

There’s music in the zephyr's wing, 
That fans the dewy flowers; 

It seems to tell of Eden’s bloom, 

And promise brighter hours. 

There’s music in the rivulet 
That murmurs in its bed, 

And music in the waving bough, 

That nods above our head. 

There’s music in the ocean’s roar, 
When storms sweep o’er its breast, 

And music in the murmur soft, 

When storms are lulled to rest. 

There’s music in the silent night, 

And in the shining day, 

And as we tread life's rugged path, 
There’s music all the way. 

There’s music in the solemn woods, 
And in the azure air; 

To him who bears a cheerful heart, 
There’s music everywhere. 


42 




INEELICITAS. 

There comes a time in every life 

When hope departs and joy is gone, 
And the weary spirit seeks in vain 
Some genial spot to rest upon. 

We darkly muse on treasures lost; 

Each former grief is counted o’er, 

And hope that once illumed our path, 

Is faded out to shine no more. 

There sometimes falls on every heart, 

A hopeless, chilling, icy blight, 

As cold as Alpine rocks, and dark 
As starless gloom of wintry night. 
Then Mem’ry with her withered hands, 
Displays before the vacant mind, 

The dear ones gone, the years we’ve lost, 
The joys we’ve left far, far behind I 

The spectre of departed bliss 

Will lurk around the warmest heart, 
And whispering of our vanished hopes, 

It brings a shudder and a start. 
Remember then,, while pleasure shines, 
Amid the shout of laughter, 

An hour of gloom is hovering near, 

A tear must follow after! 


fcOEMS. 


43 


I THINK OF THEE. 

I think of tliee in evening hours, 

When twilight shades come stealing ’round, 

And make the vale and far-off hills, 

Appear with pensive beauty crowned. 

I think of thee when gloomy night 

Throws ’round the earth her sable folds, 

And darkness thick o’er earth and main, 

Her solemn reign of silence holds. 

I think of thee when morning’s beams 
First break upon the shades of night, 

When Phoebus, rising In the East, 

Pours forth his flood of silvery light. 

I think of thee in summer time, 

When dew-drops sparkle on the lea; 

Through autumn’s frost and winter’s snow, 
My gentle friend, I think of thee ! 


HALLOWED GROUND. 

’Tis hallowed ground where heroes sleep, 
Where rest the fallen braves, 

And hallowed are the dews that weep 
In silence o’er their graves. 

The spot where, ’mid the battle’s strife, 
The Right a victor found, 



44 


POEMS 


Where freedom struggled into life — 
That, that is hallowed^ground. 

The earth is hallowed where they lie, 
Whose voice or pen could sweep 
The chords of feeling—wake the sigh, 
Or make the stoic weep. 

The soil by buried greatness pressed, 
The verdant, mossy mound, 

That marks where wits or sages rest, 
Is classic, hallowed ground. 


OUR SOLDIER DEAD. 

Calm and unmoved in their still resting place, 
Beneath yon marble shaft that lifts its head, 

In quiet slumber rests the last sad trace 

Of heroes martyred —of our country’s dead. 

O let the mellow moonbeams lightly rest 

Upon the grassy mounds that mark their bed, 

And may the dewdrops o’er each hero breast 
Shine like a diadem above each head. 

May zephyrs, as they lightly float along, 

And bend the myrtle o’er their silent graves, 

Sing but the sad and touching fun’ral song— 

A requiem above the fallen braves. 

O genius of our country! deign to pause, 

And for one pensive moment hover near 



POEMS. 


45 


Their silent homes; and as thou lov’st the cause 
For which they fell, do drop one grateful tear. 

No trumpet-blast, no tocsin of alarm, 

No victor-shout, no martial host of foes 
Can nerve again the fallen warrior’s arm, 

Or ever wake his long and last repose! 


MY HOME. 

Oh! tempt me not with fortune’s smile, 

The glory of a titled name, 

The splendors of a palace hall, 

The glitt’ring diamond wreath of fame ! 
The cold and heartless world may seek 
A home where gold and jewels shine, 

But none of these illusive things 
Can ever gem or brighten mine. 

Give me a home in some bright clime,. 

Where frowning winters never come 
To mar the beauty summer wears, 

Or blight its rich and fragrant bloom, 
Where birds of strange bright plumage sport 
In leafy bowers that wither not, 

And genial, lasting sunshine throws 
Enchantment o’er the lovely spot. 

And on some gentle, sunny slope 
That rises from the pebbly strand, 

And overlooks the dark-blue sea, 

There let my rustic cottage stand. 



POEMS. 


Oh ! give me but one jewel rare, 

A heart congenial with my own, 

But give me this, I’ll only ask 
The world to leave us here alone. 

And when the twilight steals around, 
We, fondly seated side by side, 

Will watch the day-god’s farewell beam 
Stream lightly o’er the rolling tide. 
And when pale Luna, rising high, 

Shall dim the glitt’ring orbs above, 
We’ll gaze up there and know that she 
Will watch and bless our mutual love. 


WHY THEY SING. 

There is no song in effort grand, 

No sweet in labored rhyme, 

No rhythm in numbers made to hand — 
Wrought in allotted time. 

Ah ! no; the tender words that soothe 
The sea of human woe, 

Must, like volcanic fires, burst 
Erom burning depths below. 

Alas! the strains that tell of joy, 

Or for a lost hope grieve, 

May oft consume the heart that sings, 
And only ashes leave. 



P0EM8. 


47 


Sometimes the song that charms the world, 
The poet’s heart is wringing; 

And oft the strain that others love, 

May break the heart that’s singing. 

The poets must make measured words 
Their storm-tossed hearts reflect; 

“They must expel their longings so, 

Or be like ship o’erweighted wrecked.” 

Sometimes the poet’s heart, that wealth 
Of joy the world is bringing, 

Exhales its last sweet breath in song, 

And, swan-like, dies in singing. 


FANCY FENCILINGS. 

I dreamed of a blue summer island afar, 

In a calm southern sea, where a storm never blew, 

Where the sunshine is soft as the beams of a star. 

And the moonlight more golden than earth ever knew. 

O rare was the light of those wondrous skies, 

And gem-lit the beautiful dome above; 

And they dreamed and they smiled like a woman’s eyes 
When they kindle to learn the first story of love. 

And I dreamed, love, I stole you, in spirit away, 

And we swept o’er the wide waters, swift as the light, 

Like twin birds escaping their prison by day, 

And fast flying homeward to rest ere the night. 



48 


POEMS. 


We knew no dull pause, no lonely delay, 

As we fled through the dim night and glorious day, 

Till we lit on that beautiful isle far away, 

To live there and rest there and love there for aye. 

No ships ever touch on that beautiful strand, 

Save phantom-ships bringing us heart-gifts of gold ; 

There none come to chide us, to frown or command, 
And love never changes and never grows old. 

Dear heart, shall we flee the cold bonds of the Real, 
That bind and deceive us in this dreary below, 

And together haste home to the realms of th’ Ideal — 
Say, spirit-love, say — will you go, will you go ? 


FRANKFORT CEMETERY. 

Pause, wand’rer on this lovely spot, 

And cast one glance around; 

A thousand sylvan voices say 
You tread on hallowed ground. 

The summer on this mountain top 
In richest robes is dressed, 

And bleak and frowning winter walks 
But lightly on its breast. 

Ah! here the humble peasant sleeps 
Upon his lowly bed, 

No marble marks his resting-place, 

Or glances at his head. 

No eager throngs press ’round his grave, 
Or,wond’ring, linger near, 



POEMS. 


49 


But oft at eve upon that mound, 

A lone one drops a tear. 

And there beneath that polished* shaft, 

That skyward rears its head, 

The mortal part of greatness lies, 

All motionless and dead. 

The tongue that uttered patriot words, 

Is hushed and still in death; 

The eye that shone is lusterless, 

And gone the flying breath. 

Here, mold’ring back to mother earth, 

The proud and lowly lie; 

Their only dirge is sung by winds 
That sadly murmur by. 

Here lies, perhaps, who might have touched 
The harp’s responsive chords, 

Or in the high debate have spoke’ 

The lofty burning words. 

The hero of ensanguined fields 
Rests on his laurels well; 

In future years his country’s page 
His gallant deeds shall tell. 

No stern command or trumpet tone, 

No shout of charging foes, 

Can nerve the fallen warrior’s arm, 

Or wake his deep repose! 


50 


POEMS. 


TWILIGHT. 

Twilight, are thy dusky curtains 
Gath’ring near the distant sea ? 

Dost thou find a dear one waiting, 

Rapt with gentlest thoughts of me? 

Does she, when thy gloaming shadows 
Steal upon the beams of day, 

Ling’ring ’neath the fragrant olive, 
Think of him that’s far away ? 

Does she hear the spirit-voice3 
That I fondly send to her, 

Does she know, while lonely watching, 
That my heart of hearts is there ? 

Evening star, so brightly beaming 
O’er the forest and the lea, 

Dost thou flash and blaze and glimmer 
On her home beside the sea ? 

Twilight, let me through thy shadows, 
O’er the dark blue mountains send, 

Gentle whispers, heart-warm wishes, 

To my distant, dearest friend! 

Youngest, loveliest star of twilight, 

With thy mildest, holiest ray, 

Bless with brightest dreams her pillow— 
Dreams of one that’s far away! 


POEMS. 


51 


CONSTANCY. 

The heart that’3 dull and cold may love, 
And soon forget the flame; 

But some, when lit by passion’s beam, 
Forever glow the same. 

Some faiths are like a vestal fire 
In fane forever burning, 

A vital, subtile element 

That knows no shade of turning. 

Some loves are like that fabled heart, 

So long the vulture’s prey, 

Though fed on by consuming years 
They cannot waste away. 


TO THE WEST WIND, 

O west wind, whisper lowly, tell me — 
Warbling through the sighing grove — 
Are thy harp-notes sweetly singing 
In the ears of one I love ? 

Dost thou know her, didst thou pass her, 
In the pale moon’s glimmer ? 

Was she watching, musing, thinking, 
’Neath the starlight’s shimmer? 

O winds, oh, gentlest, softest winds, 

Sing through my dear one’s bower; 



52 


POEMS. 


Touch on thy softest, tenderest strings, 
And cheer her lonely hour! 

Steal through the roof-trees of her home, 
Down by the sunset sea, 

Catch but a breath, a sigh of hers 
And bear it back to me. 

Fly in the night’s deep, lonely hours, 
Fresh from the murm’ring billow, 

And in thy sweetest rondeau strains 
Sing ’round her sleepless pillow. 

Then swiftly fly o’er hills and plains, 
And gently sing for me; 

Breathe in my lonely, listening ear 
The same dear lullaby. 

O wind-harp, wind-harp, wild and sweet! 

Just whisper now and say, 

If a dear one thinks, in this lone hour, 

Of one that’s far away ? 

O harp of mellow, golden strings, 

Canst thou, wilt thou be 
A messenger to waft her thoughts, 

Her spirit-tones to me? 


THE BEAL. 

Yes, truth is more than fiction strange! 

The weird and dim Ideal 
Gives out no shape or shade so bright, 
So gorgeous as the Beal, 



POEMS. 


63 


No pencil touch can ever sketch 
The halos of the even,’ 

As shining streaks of golden light 
Stretch up the western heaven. 

The soul was ne’er on canvas thrown. 
From painter’s magic easel, 

Nor Hebe’s blush of rose e’er traced 
By cunning sculptor’s chisel. 

The best nor worst of heart or soul 
Ne’er on the canvas lingers; 

The smile of joy, the throe of grief 
Elude the wizard fingers. 


REMEMBER ME. 

Remember me ! remember me ! 

When morning’s pure and brilliant light 
Springs from the dark embrace of night, 
When birds from out the bower sing, 
And plume anew their silken wing, 

My dearest friend, remember me! 

Remember me! remember me I 
Amid the bright’ning glow of noon, 
When day displays her richest boon, 
When every heart with joy is crowned, 
And all is light and life around, 

Oh ! wilt thou then remember me ? 

Remember me ! remember me! 

In evening’s calm and holy hours, 



54 


POEMS. 


When zephyrs kiss the blushing flowers; 
While clouds of gold hang o’er the west, 
And tired nature sinks to rest, 

Oh ! dearest friend, remember me ! 


DRIFT, DRIFT. 

Drift, drift on the cold gray crags, 

O clouds of whirling, blinding snow; 

While I darkly dream, and sigh in vain 
For the days in the mystic long ago. 

Sweep, sweep o’er the barren wastes, 

O storms from Winter’s icy river! 

But your breath is warm, and your sky is bright, 
To the heart when hope goes out forever. 

Wail and shriek, O bitter winds! 

And rend the dismal, inky sky, 

But your sable black can ne’er give back 
The light of a golden day gone by. 


LETTERS. 

The coldest heart, locked up in breast of snow. 

Secure from words and voice, secure from harm — 
While through it only icy currents flow — 

O letters, you can touch and make it warm! 




POEMS. 


55 


Magicians, thou dost wield a wand which starts 
Strong tempests in the heart’s soft sleeping sea ; 

Thou hast a talisman so sweet that hearts 

Of stone must yield their treasures up to thee. 

The ice and snow on Hecla’s lofty crest 

Defy the storms of night, the beams of day ; 

But by thy wizard, unseen fingers pressed, 

The ice dissolves, the snow-banks melt away. 

Thy mute and voiceless words, when all alone, 

Still sigh and whisper, to the heart appealing ; 

Awake, asleep, they woo us on and on, 

And pluck and twine the wild flower wreath of feeling. 


DON’T KICK. 

Young man, as you start on life’s journey, 
Take this advise, for you’ll need it, 

Go slow, don’t think you know all things, 
Where good counsel’s given you, heed it. 

Now, bub, as you take up the journey, 

This advice I give you will stick; 

Learn to take all things easy,my good boy, 
Whatever you do, don’t kick.’ 

If you fail to have system in business, 

And fret and quibble and wrangle, 

You need not expect only losses and crosses, 
And things in a general tangle. 

If you should be tempted to jockey — 

To cheat, or to learn a new trick— 



56 


POEMS. 


Don’t growl if the other man beats you, 
Whatever may happen, don’t kick. 

If people are green, never mind it, 

If, in fact, it don’t concern you; 

Never try to do wonders, don’t bite off 
Any more than you can well chew. 

If you meddle with other folk’s business, 

And get knocked on the head with a brick, 

Don’t wonder, my boy, you deserved it, 

Go home, soak yo’ head, but don’t kick. 

Should you seek to grow wealthy by traffic, 
Bear in mind it’s a two-handed game; 

If you bank on your judgment and foresight, 
Don’t forget other men have the same. 

If you sell your goods, wares and chattels 
To good friends and neighbors on tick, 

Then don’t be surprised if they fool you— 
Whatever they do, don’t kick. 

If you see a free fight out yonder, 

And rocks and things flying in air, 

You’d better pass on, and let matters run, 
You’d better not go in there. 

But if you rush up, and into the muddle, 

And you’re hit a staggering lick, 

Then be not surprised, it always so happens, 
Just take it, be quiet, don’t kick. 

Should the world fail to find out your merit, 
Don’t worry, but just let it go ; 

No doubt it will get your true measure; 
’Twill size you up, whether or no. 


POEMS. 


57 


If enemies wrong and assail you, 

And slanders should fly fast and thick, 

Live them down ! if you will, they won’t hurt you; 
Be patient and firm, but don’t kick. 

Don’t assume to know more than you do know, 
Never leave off the sense for the sound, 

Don’t let it be said you are puffed up, 

Don’t try to cover too much ground. 

As you jog on your way take this counsel, 

It’s well-meant and true, and will stick: 

Just take the old world as you find it, 

Be patient, keep cool and don’t kick. 

If the friend of your heart should deceive you, 
And the basest ingratitude show, 

No matter how long you had served him, 

Never mind it, don’t care, let it go. 

Should you meet with deceit and false-dealing, 
Till your heart grows tired and sick, 

Bear up like a man, rise above it, 

It has happened before — don’t kick. 

If your true love should jilt you and tilt you, 
And turn up her nose if you grieve; 

Should the other chap beat you and cheat you, 
And take her and skip out and leave, 

Then cheer up, don’t cry, never mind it, 

But go out in the wide world and pick 
One that’s truer and wiser and better, 

But don’t be a booby —don’t kick. 


POEMS. 


NEVER DESPAIR. 

A lone one stood on a storm-swept hill, 

And watched the winter sun dip low; 

And the glint of his fading beams went out 
Erom glit’ring ice and frozen snow. 

The birds had fled and the leaves were dead, 

And the last dim ray of light 

Went out in the frozen, darkling west, 

And all was starless, dismal night. 

Despair as grim as fate swept by, 

And brushed that wand’rer’s pallid cheek, 

And the foul fiend screeched, “my reign is come, 
My night is here — so bleak, so bleak.” 

But prophet-like that pilgrim stood, 

And peered in the horrid dark so long, 

Till a still, small voice cried from the gloom — 
“Be true, dear heart, be strong, be strong.” 

And the lone one turned to the golden East, 

And the dead lights seemed awaking; 

And silver edges were on the clouds, 

And the glorious morn was breaking. 

O weary heart that sadly missed 

The goal thou vainly sought’st to gain — 

That dreamed of peace and rest and love, 

And waked to only bitter pain ! 

Take courage and look up, O heart I 
For sunshine follows leaden rain; 

The day shall break on the blackest night, 

And the sweet flowers bloom again. 


POEMS. 


59 


SONG OF THE OLD SOLDIER. 

One eve a gray old soldier sat 
Beneath an apple tree, 

Beside him lay his crutch and cane — 

His grand-child on his knee. 

Though bright his eye, his form was bent 
With age, disease and pain; 

He’d marched to many a hard-fought field, 
But could not march again. 

And when the evening meal was o’er, 

The family gathered there, 

To hear good grandpa tell the tales 
Of many a glorious war. 

He shoul’dered arms, he shifted arms, 

He dressed to left and right, 

And with his crutch for army gun, 

He fought the mimic fight. 

He told how sabres flashed and fell, 

When hostile armies battled, 

And how the cannons belched and boomed, 
And how the muskets rattled. 

And while to many a question asked, 

The old man quick replied, 

His voice grew strong, his bright eye blazed 
With all a soldier’s pride. 

“My grandpa,” said the old man, “fought 
On Yorktown’s crimson plain; 

And father was with General Scott 
At famous Lundy’s Lane. 


60 


POEMS. 


And when a little boy, they told 
Me tales of many a fight, 

I thought I’d be a soldier then, 

And battle for the right. 

“It’s nearly forty years,” said he, 

“ Since wild war’s dread alarms, 

And danger to the country called 
The brave and true to arms.. 

Some thought it right to wear the Blue, 
While some preferred the Gray; 

And leaving homes and dear ones all, 

We proudly marched away. 

“At Vicksburg and at Donaldson, 

We felt each other’s steel, 

And found the joy, in many a fight, 

That valiant foemen feel. 

I saw my own dear mess-mate fall — 
How oft I think of him ! 

I know where Short and Pipkin fell, 

And Carter lost a limb. 

“I’ve seen my comrades stricken down 
On many a stubborn field, 

I’ve seen the battle wax and wane, 

When neither host would yield. 

This gash was cut upon the bank 
Of Peachtree’s crimson fountain, 

This arm was broke 1 , this scar was made 
On Lookout’s bloody mountain. 

“And on Stone River’s plain, I saw 
Our color-bearer fall, 


POEMS. 


61 


While dismal clouds of battle huug 
Above us like a pall. 

I saw brave Roark, yet a boy, 

The prostrate banner raise, 

And bear it grandly through the fight — 

I heard the shouts of praise. 

“ On Chickamauga’s awful field, 

When earth and sky were red, 

The ‘Orphan Brigade’ fronted us — 

Brave Lewis at their head. 

There Greek met Greek — the tug of war — 
We all found what it meant! 

They would not fly, they would not yield, 
They gave us what we sent. 

“Ah ! when Kentuckians confront 
Kentuckians in fight, 

And foot to foot and hand to hand, 

They battle for the right, 

As they believe the right to be, 

The earth must almost reel 
Beneath the combat’s awful shock, 

The fearful clash of steel. 

“Sometimes the generals would call 
A truce, and stop the fight; 

And then the boys in Blue and Gray, 

In day-time or the night, 

Would bathe together in the streams, 

And eat hard-tack and cracker; 

And exchange knives and pocket-books, 

And coffee and tobacco. 

“And when the truce was at an end, 
They’d quit their games of play; 


62 


POEMS. 


Each soldier true was back in line, 

And ready for the fray; 

And, fighting each in his own cause, 

And for the home he loved, 

The serried hosts, with flying flags, 

Down to the red front moved. 

“But long ago the cloud of war 
Was flecked with silver lining; 

And now from heaven’s glorious blue 
The sun of peace is shining. 

And on the tragic fields where once 
The crimson stream was flowing, 

The yellow harvests wave and toss — 

The white rose now is growing. 

“We of the North and of the South, 

From fact’ries, fields and farms, 

Have fought like brave men long and well, 
And now we’ve grounded arms. 

The same flag now waves over all; 

In brotherhood we live, 

We join in prayer and praise to God, 

We’ve learned how to forgive. 

“And now we know, should foreign foe 
Dare to assail our home, 

That from the South as from the North, 
The brave, true men would come, 

And with our children and with us, 
Beneath the grand old flag, 

They’d fight with Schofield and with Miles.' 
As once they fought with Bragg. 

“The Northern and the Southern blood 
Now mingle in the veins 


POEMS. 


63 


Of children and grand-children, while 
Sweet peace forever reigns. 

Strew flowers, then, alike upon 
The graves of Blue and Gray, 

And let these glorious years of peace 
Drive bitterness away. 

“Whate’er the cause in which you fought, 
If you were brave and true, 

If you could pray to Heaven for help, 
That cause was just to you. 

And on the evening of your lives 
A halo shall descend, 

And generations yet to come, 

Your valor will commend.” 

And now, brave men, your dangers done, 
The world will give you praise, 

And glory shed a golden light 
Upon your latest days. 

And long as in your country’s heart, 

One gen’rous spark remains, 

Columbia’s harp shall breathe for you 
Its wildest, loftiest strains. 

And when you’ve crossed the mystic river, 
And touched the other shore — 

Your labors done, your rest at hand, 

Your last grim battle o’er — 

Then honor with a garland wreath, 

Shall like a pilgrim come, 

And bending o’er your resting-place, 

Strew flowers on your tomb. 

Ah! then you’ll dream of wars no more, 
£Tor hear the call—“To arms!” 


64 


POEMS. 


Nor see the smoke, nor sabre-stroke, 
Nor battle’s wild alarms; 

But you shall rest amid the blest, 
Your days of pain shall cease, 
And in the Better Land you’ll find 
One long eternity of peace! 


HAVE COURAGE AND MOVE ONWARD. 

Work, O man, in deepest earnest, 

While the day shines, and the light 

Falls on thy path; for soon the shadows 
Shall descend, soon comes the night! 

The great world throbs with vital pulses, 

As wave on wave sweeps by us; 

But while we dread the distant evil, 

Let’s grasp the good that’s nigh us. 

And though we fail in hope and effort, 

Let us new courage borrow; 

And if to-day we’re overpowered, 

Let’s fight again to-morrow. 

And though a mountain frowns before us, 
There’s ever new tasks to begin; 

If we’re but earnest, true and faithful, 

There’s always some good we may win. 

Though far out in the gloom and darkness 
Is growing the rich food we crave; 

Have courage and be strong, my brother, 
You’ll pluck it this side of the grave, 



POEMS. 


65 


Though precious is the treasure golden, 

Yet still will it elude pursuit, 

Unless by climbing we shall pluck it,— 

By toiling reach the luscious fruit. 

The great, wide, pulsing world we live in, 
Demands our noblest, grandest thought; 

And ages yet to come shall blazon 

The deeds our hearts and hands have wrought. 

Shrink not if thorns beset thy pathway; 

Fear not in darkness or in day; 

Far out thy track is smoother, wider, 

And sweet flowers bloom beside the way. 

Do right, have faith, and still be busy; 

Leave “ footprints on the sands of time;” 

And whether vanquished or the victor, 

Yet men shall call thy work sublime. 

Thus spend thy life, and in the evening, 

Thou shalt not die, but only rest, 

And sweetly sleep and dream, awaiting 
Thy rich reward among the blest. 

Climb like a hero, rise by toiling, 

And blaze a path that’s sunward; 

Pass the brave watchword to thy brother — 

Have courage and move onward. 


66 


POEMS. 


BEYOND. 

Beyond the mountains dim and hoary, 
Beyond this mortal sight, 

Beyond the sunset’s gleam and glory, 
Lie realms of fadeless light. 

Across the dim and mystic river, 

And on the distant shore, 

Immortal flowers bloom forever — 
They fade and die no more. 

Far o’er the troubled waters stealing, 
The light falls on the strand — 

The constant eye of faith revealing 
The wonders of that land. 

And there beside the crystal river, 
Surrounded by the blest, 

And after life’s short, fitful fever, 

The weary ones shall rest. 


THE MYSTIC KIYER. 

I saw a rippling, singing river, 

Where the pale moon loosed her quiver. 
And let fall her beams forever, 

On its placid, silvery bosom: 

And it stole through field and meadow, 
Through the sunshine and the shadow, 
And its song grew sweeter, gladder, 

As it swept by fern and blossom. 



POEMS. 


67 


When the golden tints of morning, 

Heedless of the black night’s warning, 

Stole into the vale, adorning 

All the leaves and flow’rs and grasses; 

Ere the golden noon was glowing, 

While the softest winds were blowing, 

It tired of its gentle flowing 

And hurried toward the mountain passes. 

I saw its waters breaking, foaming, 
Scattered, through the rude rocks roaming 
All the day and in the gloaming, 

Like wand’ring drops of leaden rain: 
Softly for a while it glided, 

But o’er the rocks its waves divided, 

And at last its flow subsided, 

Ere it had reached the lower plain. 

I watched that stream in changeful weather, 
I saw it wind through broom and heather, 

I saw its volume swell and gather 
Into a lake by grassy lea; 

And I heard a music sweeter 
Than the songs of softest metre 
Drift, like drowsy lotus-eater 
O’er some sleepy southern sea. 

I heard a poet’s harpings tender, 

A tale of love and sadness render, 

On lyre of purest golden splendor, 

In the twilight pale and sweet. 

Then from distant shores there started 
Two beings that had long been parted, 
Tearful, sad and broken-hearted, 

Upon the glassy mere to meet. 


63 


POEMS. 


But the more than earthly greeting 
Of their joyous, heart-warm meeting 
Was so brief! and oh how fleeting 
The flush of hope, the pang of pain! 
Then the panorama shifted, 

Then the wind its rude wings lifted, 

And far apart their frail barks drifted, 
Ne’er on earth to meet again. 

But through the reefs and breakers veering, 
Lost from sight and out of hearing, 

Pale with pain and sick with fearing, 

To the cold, gray rocks they drifted; 

And ne’er again in fact or seeming, 

In starlight or in noon-day’s beaming, 
Awake or in their spells of dreaming, 

The wraith of care her shadow lifted. 

But out from gloomy mountain passes, 
Down the liill-side, through the grasses, 
Spurning rocks and dark morasses, 

Laughs again the sparkling river. 

And with graceful motion purling, 

Through the plains and woodlands curling, 
Sweeping swifter, dazzling, whirling, 

Roll its waters on forever l 


TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

’Twas twenty years ago X roamed 
These hills and dells, a barefoot boy; 
The life-way spread before me then 
Its luring hopes, its promised joy. 



POEMS. 


69 


Her tangled net-work fancy wrought 
Upon the far-off, purple skies, 

And touched the devious, winding way 
With her most fitful, gorgeous dies. 

And as I wander on these hills, 

And pause amid these forests green, 

The mem’ry of those vanished days 
Will sadly darken all the scene. 

Ah! many a joy and many a grief 

Have crossed this weary heart since then, 
And many a hope hath bloomed and died, 

And may not, cannot bloom again. 

Alas! ’tis ever thus with life, 

When wand’ring through the vernal bowers, 
There comes a frost, a darksome night, 

To sear and blight the sweetest flowers. 

And scarce one bright ideal blaze 
Along our changeful path is lighted, 

Till —cold and bleak —the real comes, 

And all its seeming glory’s blighted. 


A LITTLE WHILE. 

A little while for laughter, 

A little while for tears; 

And then so swiftly after, 

Come grief’s distempered years. 

The plots, the plans, the schemings, 
The prospects of to-day; 



POEMS. 


The hopes, the loves, the dreamings, 
To morrow fade away. 

To-day we build, to-morrow 
The castle topples down; 

To-day ’tis bright, but sorrow 
Awaits the coming dawn. 

A little while for working, 

A little while for play,— 

With gloom forever lurking 
So close beside the way. 

A little while for trying, 

And finding it is vain,— 

A little while for crying, 

Then silent all again. 

A restless, sad, uncertain 
Season of joy and strife; 

Then death shall drop the curtain, 
And this is all of life. 

A little while for serving 

The Lord and Master’s will,— 

From duty’s path unswerving, 

Our mission here to fill. 

A little while for lifting 
The veil of moonless night, 

’Mid storms and tempests drifting, 
Then comes the perfect light. 


THE CLOSING SCENE. 
As fades the brilliant light of day 
Along the western sky, 



POEMS. 


1 


As wanes the golden tints away 
Before the pensive eye — 

So softly steals the hour of death, 

When Christians breathe the expiring breath. 

And soft the shadows cluster nigh, 

Like gath’ring hues of even, 

As upwards mounts the soul on high 
To its reward in heaven, 

No clouds to dim its homeward flight, 

No gloom to hide the perfect light. 

Ah! Heaven’s immortal sunshine glows 
Upon the spirit’s wings; 

No pause or low delay it knows, 

As home the wand’rer springs. 

Thus comes the Christian’s dying hour, 

Like twilight comes to shut the flower. 


EARLY POEMS. 

[The following poems comprise some of the author’s 
earliest efforts in versification. While they may be of 
little interest to the aged and mature in intellect, yet 
it has been decided to give them a place here, as illus¬ 
trative of the exuberance of boyish imagination, senti¬ 
ment and feeling.] 


THE HEKO. 

He who is born to wealth and fame, 
Whom chance may give a titled name, 
Whose path through life is ever smooth, 
Whose cares and troubles riches soothe, 
Whose bark has never dared a storm, 
Whose name is. ever safe from harm, 




72 


POEMS. 


Whose soul is but an infant’s span, 

Is not the hero. But the man 
Whose birth is low, whose daring high, 
Who slander meets with steadfast eye, 
Whose way is scanned by jealous eyes, 
Whose path is through where envy lies, 
Who meets life’s every rugged shock, 
Firm as the fabled Inchcape Kock,— 

He is the hero. For the right 
He battles with the giant’s might; 

And come the sunshine or the storm, 

He begs no favor, fears no harm. 

The firm resolve, the purpose high, 

Is written in his fearless eye; 

In his clear bosom virtue’s light 
Is burning constant, pure and bright. 

No selfish end or coward fear 
Intrudes or lives a moment there. 

Then haste the day, the happy hour, 
When worth shall find its meed of power, 
When merit shall be unconfined, 

And men be measured by the mind. 

’Tis then that just and honest fame 
Will cease to be an empty name. 

Ah! then will prostrate justice rise, 

And tow’ring reach the azure skies. 

Then off will fettered freemen cast 
The clanking chains that held them fast. 
Then will the reign of tyrants cease, 

For one perpetual reign of peace; 

And gladness bless the joyous earth, 

At universal freedom’s birth. 


{•OEMS. 


73 


REMINISCENCES. 

As sitting in the twilight mist, 

I hear the wild winds rage, 

My wandering fancy turns me back 
O’er memory’s sacred page. 

The howling wind that loudly moans 
O’er hill and dale and lawn, 

Seems but the solemn funeral dirge 
Of joys forever gone. 

Though lost to me and far away 
The hills I used to roam, 

Though rudely tossed on life’s dark sea, 
’Tis sweet to think of home! 

How sweet, though far from all we love, 
To muse on by-gone hours — 

To wander back, though every step 
Falls on the faded flowers. 

Oh I who hath never felt the sting 
Of time’s relentless frost ? 

What cold and dull and rayless heart 
' Hath ne’er a treasure lost ? 

If such there be, I envy not 
His boasted wealth or ease ; 

No harp-note stirs his callous breast, 

No beauty e’er can please. 

Ah! tell me not of mem’ry pains, 

It hath but joys for me; 

Familiar faces beam as bright 
As once they seemed to be, 

While elfin voices bring me back 
The tones I used to hear, 

And whisp’rings of the long ago,' 

Fall on the dreaming ear. 


fOEJMS. 

HOME. 

We may wander amid strangers on land, 

Across the blue ocean may roam: 

But the heart will beat quicker as mem’ry recalls 
The green hills that rise ’round our home. 

Though far from the spot our infancy knew, 
Surrounded by sorrow or mirth, 

The heart will secretly yearn for our home, 

The only loved spot on the earth. 

O home of our childhood! green be the hills 
That rise ’round the Eden-like spot! 

Back to thy meadows and forests and fields, 
Again we are carried by thought. 

Sweet home ! thou wilt linger in memory still, 
When pleasure, the siren, has fled, 

And blossoms of hope, that brightened our youth, 
In our hearts lie withered and dead. 


FRIENDSHIP. 

As through the fitful gloom of life, 

We wend our weary way, 

One ray alone illumes our path, 

’Tis Friendship lights the way. 

It is the fondest tie that twines 
About the broken heart; 

It drives away the somber clouds, 

And heals affliction’s smart. 

Through fortune’s storms and through her smiles, 
True friendship changes not; 

Through good or ill or bliss or woe, 

It comes to bless our lot. 



POEMS. 


And hearts thus bound in ties so sweet, 
No fate can e’er estrange; 

When friendship warms them into love, 
Ah! then they never change. 


SONG OF THE CAVALIER. 

While sage and stoic idly boast 
Of science and of art, 

And precept dull and lesson long, 

Of turgid lore impart, 

Be mine the muse that soars above 

Such heartless themes and sings of love. 

The heart by golden arrow pierced, 

From cupid’s magic bow, 

The tender thought, the fear, the hope 
That love alone can know, 

The whispered word, the languid eye — 

For these my pensive harp shall sigh. 

And if e’er its trembling strings 
Should yield a cheerful tone, 

Then know it is intruding there, 

That note is not its own. 

Ah ! no, its chords must feebly tell 
Some tale of love in every swell. 

And when my muse would soar aloof, 

And beam with reason’s ray, 

With patriot’s words or heroes’ deeds — 
Yet touch them when I may, 

Each mellow string will still repeat, 

“ The Song of Love alone is sweet.’-’ 



*76 


POEMS. 


LINES. 

INSCRIBED TO MYRTILLIS. 

Myrtillis, though we ne’er have met, yet I 
Have seen thee in my dreams, and wandered by 
Thy side, along the trackless mountain bright, 
To meet the morn or bid adieu to night. 

And still thy gentle harp beguiled the way, 

With song of sweetest sentiment, or lay 
Of gentleness and love. Their pensive spell 
Did mingle with my being then, and swell 
Along my heart-chords like Anacreon’s shell. 

Myrtillis, I have loved thy strain and hung 
Enchanted o’er the numbers, till they wrung 
Drops from these eyes—alas! too prone to tears. 
Thy fancy’s flash, thy pensive verse, endears 
Thee to the distant, kindred son of song. 

Smooth be thy pathway here, and long 
Mayst thou yet wander in Parnassian bowers, 
And bear away her rarest, richest flowers. 

And still, as now, may virtue ever shine 
Upon thy page, and hallow every line. 


LINES. 

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 

Yes, gladly will I trace a line, 

Dear friend, to call to mind, 

When o’er these pages you may turn, 
Your still unchanging friend. 

When far away ’mid stirring scenes, 

And such I yet may see, 

’Twould be my happiest thought to know 
You’d sometimes think of me. 



POEMS. 


77 


Ambition, fame, wealth, pleasure, all 
By me, would be resigned, 

If I could only hope to live 
In hearts I leave behind. 

In future years and happier hours, 

When smiling friends are near, 

Look o’er the lines I’ve traced and know, 
“My heart lies buried here.” 


THE WARRIOR AND THE SCHOLAR. 
Time was when conquest made a name, 

And murder marked the path to fame; 

And but the mailed and armor’d throng 
Was worth the tribute of a song — 

When Alexander’s mighty arm, 

And Caesar’s gleaming, fiery blade, 

Smote nations with the curse of war, 

And fearful wreck and havoc made. 

And yet again, Attilla’s band, 

With ready torch and bloody hand, 

And battle-axe and murd’rous lance, 

Struck Rome and Normandy and France, 
And swept with carnage and with death, 
The fairest of the eastern plains; 

And monster-like he murdered kings, 

And dragged them in his captive trains. 

And later, brutal Genghis Kahn, 

Religion’s foe, the curse of man, 

His red, victorious banner bore 
Across the Tartar’s reeking shore ; 

And later still did Brittons dread, 

And hardy Slav and Teuton start 
To see blaze up the southern sky, 

The fiery star of Bonaparte. 



78 


POEMS. 


But who shall boast of conquerors’ deeds, 
Of him who struggles, fights and bleeds, 
Who tramples under foot the poor, 

And stains the earth with human gore ? 
Let such go forth with eager stride, 

To win the hero’s bloody name; 

But whether good or ill betide, 

Give me a nobler, better fame. 

Cold is the heart and dark the mind 
Of him who triumphs o’er his kind; 
Destruction hovers round his way, 

Like vulture o’er its fated prey; 

To him are crimson plains but naught: 

Unmoved he views the fields of dead; 
And every generous, pitying thought, 

From his cold, harden’d heart has fled. 

The scholar’s calm and noble face, 

Aglow with learning’s nameless grace, 

Is nobler far than victor’s scars, 

Or wounds received on fields of Mars. 

The student’s quill, the harmless pen, 

That traces soft or burning words 
Is mightier far than armed men — 

Is worth a thousand gleaming sw T ords. 

And now the splendid march of thought, 
This truth sublime and grand hath taught,' 
That honor waits with patience now, 

To wreathe the scholar’s classic brow; 

This golden age with trumpet tongue, 
Proclaims the glorious truth afar, 

That peaceful triumphs far outshine 
The dear-bought victories of war. 


POEMS. 


79 


NIGHT. 

O night! how pale and beautiful 
Thy moonbeams fall around us, 

Waking sweet thoughts of other years, 
When happier hours crown’d us! 

Each zephyr breath that floats along, 

The leaves and blossoms moving, 

Stirs up the spirit-depths of thought, 

And sets the fancy roving. 

Night is the time for memory 
To seek her richest treasure, 

The time to tread again the paths 
Of love and youth and pleasure. 

We almost meet the eyes again, 

That beamed on us so brightly, 

And touch again the gentle hand 
We used to press so lightly. 

Dear cottage home, that used to stand 
Among the bending bowers, 

Where soonest sang the birds of spring, 
And earliest bloomed the flowers! 

At thought of home and youth and friends, 
Ah, how the heart rejoices! 

Naught but the calm, the stilly night 
Can e’er give back their voices. 

Night is the time when love and song 
Wake all the soul of feeling — 

The hour that wafts us back again, 

Life’s glorious morn revealing. 

A selfish thought or sordid wish, 

Can then disturb us never ; 


80 


POEMS. 


But youth and love bloom out again, 
As fresh and green as ever. 


I’LL NOT FORGET. 

Oh, think not dear one, I’ll forget, 

The sunny smile that won me! 

’Twill live when even hope is dead, 

Till fate shall have undone me. 

Ah ! bright to me will be that smile, 
O’er mem’ry’s empire playing, 

As are the evening sunbeams bright, 
Through beds of flowers straying 

My lute may lose its friendly voice, 

And all its strings be broken: 

And I may weep to part with friends, 

To hear the farewell spoken; 

Or I may cross the foaming sea, 

A wand’rer sad and lonely,— 

My thoughts will wander back to thee, 
My heart to thine, thine only. 

Or should Dame Fortune deign to smile, 
And ope’ her golden treasure; 

Should folly tempt me to pursue 
The transient gleam of pleasure; 

Yet still, oh! still, I’ll think of thee, 

My gentle friend, believe me; 

No time or change can ever cause 
The nameless charm to leave me. 



ADDRESSES. 


THE KENTUCKY TEACHER AND HIS 
MISSION. 


ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE MONROE COUNTY 
TEACHERS’ INSTITUTE, AUGUST 13 , 1886 . 

Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen: 

In responding to the wish of your county super¬ 
intendent and your committee, that I should address 
you to-night, I must confess I have liad no time for 
preparation. At some Institutes held here in 
former years, when I had an earlier notice, and 
more time to devote to such work, I have taken 
some pains to interweave with the cardinal tenants 
of philosophy and the fruits of experience, some 
trellises of rhetoric and flowers of fancy, to please 
the ear and delight the imagination. 

But fact is mightier than fancy, truth is higher 
than fiction; and it has now come to be known and 
understood,everywhere,that to communicate practi¬ 
cal information, solid instruction, is a far higher 
and nobler task than merely to please and amuse. 

As teachers of Kentucky your mission is a great 
one, a grand one indeed. If I can give you the key¬ 
note, the bed-rock, the basic principle of all success 
in your work; if I can put into your hands the 
magic lamp which will enable you to build moral 
and intellectual structures, surpassing in greatness 




82 


ADDRESSES. 


and magnificence tne fabled palace of Aladin, then 
I shall not have spoken in vain; and then, indeed, 
shall I be sure of your approbation and your 
gratitude. 

Some men make the garden radiant with flow¬ 
ers— rich with sweet perfume; some make the farm 
beautiful as it groans beneath its golden harvest; 
some build houses, some cities, some ships, some 
railroads, some build governments, some empires, 
some kingdoms, some make books, and some build 
temples of fame; but you, teachers, form and fabri¬ 
cate minds and souls. You are greater than any or 
all of these builders; for you are builders of these 
builders, and makers of these makers. 

Some years ago I was in conversation with one 
of the noblest sons Mon roe county has ever produced; 
and he said in substance: u We in Kentucky cannot 
erector maintain vast cities and factories, as can the 
East; we cannot compete with the North in grain- 
fields and garners; we cannot vie with the South in 
the growth of the snowy cotton that used to be King, 
and may still be King forever; the nuggets of gold, 
the diamonds and the rubies glitter not here as they 
do in the deep ravines, and on the lofty peaks of 
the Rocky mountains, and along the golden shores 
of the Pacific. There is but one thing left ns, and 
in that we can excel the outside world — we can 
raise men.” How forcibly that struck me, and what 
a grand conception it was ! 

Behold what Kentucky has done and is doing 
in raising men ! She placed in the pulpit such 
names as Bascom and Maffitt and Cavanaugh and 
Breckinridge. She has given to the law such names 
as Mills and Boyle and Hardin and Rowan and 
Harlan. As orators, she has contributed Daviess, 
Menifee, Marshall and our own Jo. Blackburn and 
Will. Bradley, who as orators are the peers of the 


ADDRESSES. 


83 


first and foremost in the Union to-day. And it hath 
been reserved for Joel T. Hart, a Kentuckian, to 
form and fashion out of the cold, crude marble that 
beautiful image, that sublime conception, “The 
Triumph of Chastity,” which is destined to be as 
immortal as the Apollo and Minerva of the old 
Grecian Masters. 

As soldiers, Kentuckians, on every field of fignt 
from Blue Licks to Tippecanoe, and to the river 
Basin, and to Hew Orleans, and to the tragic plains 
of Buena Yista, on which the power of the modern 
Attilla was broken, and his dusky legions scattered, 
and still on Menassas and Vicksburg, and Shiloh, 
and onto the world-famed field of Appomattox, in 
the red glare of conflict, in the van of the hosts, the 
Kentuckian has ever swung the stalwart arm of the 
Homan Gladiator, and evinced the Grecian heart of 
steel. 

When nearly twenty-five years ago agitators, 
North and South, had kindled the fires of civil hate 
and sectional discord throughout the land; when the 
tempest gathered and the war-cloud hung like a pall 
in our sky; when many of our erring sister-states, 
that had so long circled around the nucleus of the 
constitution, shot wildly from their spheres; when 
the two sections, or the two governments, looked far 
and wide over their vast domains for Presidents, for 
sages and statesmen to take the helm of state in the 
time of awful insurrection or dread revolution, one 
section chose Abraham Lincoln, a Kentuckian, the 
other Jefferson Davis, a Kentuckian. And let pas¬ 
sion or prejudice say what it may, the historian of 
the future, the student of distant generations will 
gaze back at Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis 
as the two most conspicuous figures in the annals of 
the Great American Conflict. Let Kentucky raise 
up men; for Lincoln and Davis were Kentuckians. 


S-J 


ADDRESSES. 


Teachers, did yon know that in the last National 
Legislature Kentucky had six Senators and sixteen 
Representatives, or sons of her native soil ? Such is 
the fact, and no other state in the Union had so 
many in proportion to the number of her inhabitants. 

Kentuckians are thoroughbreds always and 
everywhere. For fun or for work; for deadly com¬ 
bat or generous hospitality; for dauntless eye or 
kingly form; for knightly deference and politeness 
to women; for chivalrous respect for the rights of 
others, and quick assertions of his own; for a tender 
heart and an iron hand, give me a Kentuckian in 
preference to any man beneath the sun. Kentucky 
has furnished the North and the South with many of 
their best and highest types of men. She has con¬ 
tributed heart and brain and brawn to all lands; and 
she is daily, yearly, pouring into the vast, virile 
West lier wealth of cultured and noble men to de¬ 
velop its rich resources, to adorn its professions, a.id 
to walk in the van of every laudable enterprise. 

We can give out men to the world, and you 
who teach are the architects, the builders of our men; 
you are the potters with power over the clay. And 
now the question recurs — How can the teacher best 
discharge this grave duty? It is true that the mind, 
the heart and the manners must be instructed, ele¬ 
vated and polished. It is true the teacher’s duties 
are multitudinous and many-sided; but I believe, 
and here assert as an axiom in the premises, that 
the true secret of the teacher’s success lies in his 
ability to touch and set in motion the latent forces, 
the motive powers of the mind. There are motive 
powers in mind and morals as well as in physics. 
Emulation and ambition are tremendous motive 
powers of the mind. Teachers, create, nourish and 
stimulate this laudable spirit,and the greatest, grand¬ 
est, surest part of your work is done. 


ADDRESSES. 


85 


If you ask how this may be best and easiest 
done, I answer by frequent and judicious lectures 
in school. Point out to your students illustrious 
examples of great men who came up from the very 
depths of poverty and obscurity. Tell them it is the 
poor boys and the poor girls that move the world. 
If you will point me to one man or woman in history, 
or in the present time, who began life surrounded 
by wealth, auspicious circumstances and favoring 
winds, I will name you ninety-nine who began poor 
and worked their way up through the hardest toil 
and the severest privations. 

Picture to your students the boyhood and the 
girlhood of great men and women; tell them how 
they struggled with poverty and conquered difficul¬ 
ties. Study their tastes and dispositions; point out 
to each the avocation or profession best adapted to 
his tastes and talents, and illustrate by examples 
from history. Has one or more a taste for mechan¬ 
ics? Tell him the story of Watt, of Stephenson, of 
Arkwright, of Fulton, the inventor of the steamboat; 
of Hiram Spears, the great ship-builder; of Morse, 
the inventor of the telegraph; or of Edison, the in¬ 
ventor of the electric light and of the telpehone — 
the great American, Thomas Edison, who was thirty 
years ago one of the poorest and most obscure boys 
in the United States, and who is to-day one of the 
wealthiest and most famous men in the world. 

Would anotherof your little boys bo a merchant? 
Tell him the story of Amos Lawrence, the great Bos¬ 
ton merchant — how poor he was when a boy, how 
industrious he was, how steady and how honest he 
was, how exact and methodical in business, how old 
and how rich he became, and the great charities he 
endowed and built up. Or tell him of Stephen Gi¬ 
rard, the poor, sickly, ugly, one-eyed French boy, 
who left his native laud a hard-working, poorly 


86 


ADDRESSES. 


paid, kicked and cuffed sailor-boy at twelve years 
old, and who after years of sea-faring took up his 
abode in Philadelphia, and by dilligence and in¬ 
dustry became the richest merchant of liis time, and 
at last bequeathed ten or twelve millions of dollars 
to charities in this country. Or point him to the 
lowly beginning of A. T. Stewart, that prince of 
American merchants, who began life as poor as the 
poorest in New York City forty years ago, and re¬ 
cently died a millionaire. 

Would another preach the unsearchable riches 
of the gospel ? If so, recount to him the poverty and 
the hardships of the early life of Whitefield, or Bas- 
com, or Maffitt, or Moody, or Jones. Would some 
of your little boys devote themselves to the law, or 
consecrate themselves to statesmanship ? Then point 
them to the career of any or all the greatest and 
grandest men in the whole range of our country’s 
history; and you will find that nearly every one has 
come up from the humblest and lowliest walks of 
life. Where is to be found the bright-eyed little 
boy whose heart will not swell within him at the 
story of Washington, Franklin, Hamilton, Henry 
Clay, Jackson, Webster, Marshall, Menifee, Johnson, 
Lincoln, Garfield, or any of a hundred other of the 
greatest men in our history, who learned in the school 
of poverty the lessons of pluck and energy and pa¬ 
tience and self-reliance, without which no man can 
ever become truly great. 

Teachers, it is difficult to realize how much the 
cultured man or woman owes to the little circum¬ 
stance, however trivial it may seem, that gave to 
him or her the first inspiration. It may have been 
some genial companion who kindled in our bosom 
the Promethean spark. It may have been the pages 
of some noble book; it may have been some sermon, 
or some speech, or some poem, or some romance, 


ADDRESSES. 


87 


that roused within us a sense of our own powers, 
that gave us a glimpse of the beacon mark, lofty 
and far away, and inspired us with the determination 
to reach it. 

I appeal to every teacher, and to every lady 
and gentleman who have climbed or are climbing to 
learning and usefulness, to answer in his or her 
heart, what gave the first impulse? It was a new 
birth to you. It opened to you a new world. It gave 
you something to live for, something to hope'for, 
something to struggle for. Then study ceased to be 
a task, and became a joy, a labor of love. It was 
this grand ambition that fairly rushed you on up the 
rugged steep of Learning. If you found no path 
you made one; if you found the iron hot you struck 
it; and if you found it cold you made it hot by 
striking. What man or woman of learning, what 
teacher or student, who looks not back with bound¬ 
ing heart to the glorious man, or woman, or book 
that first kindled the hallowed fire of emulation and 
resolve in the heart ? If I should ask you to give 
outward expression to this sweet memory, the storm 
of clapping hands would shake this building from 
its spire to its foundation. 

Glorious Kentucky! Land of green hills, smil¬ 
ing valleys and winding rivers ! — clime of genial 
sunshine, health-givingbreezes, crystal springs and 
lofty mountains! — birth-place of Lincoln and 
Davis and Zachary Taylor ! —home of Clay, and 
shrine of his sacred ashes !—the cradle and the 
tomb of Menifee and Daviess and Crittenden and 
Marshall and Morehead and Ewing ! —long may 
thine army of gifted teachers continue to mold and 
to send out over the Union thy peerless men and 
matchless women ! Oh Kentucky! land of my birth 
and my home ! —land of your birth, and home of 
your choice — to-night I hail thee, and I crown thee 
as Queen of the States! 


88 


ADDRESSES. 


PASSION. 


ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE TEACHERS 5 
INSTITUTE, OF MONROE COUNTY, KY., 

AUGUST 15 , 1876 . 

Young Ladies and Gentlemen: 

The subject upon which I am to address you to 
night may not be sufficiently abstruse and prosy to 
please some emotionless and pedantic critics; but 
when I look around me upon the bright-eyed beauty, 
the graceful youth, the gallant manhood assembled 
here, and reflect that more than half of this audience 
are basking in the sunshine of life’s joyous May- 
day, and that most of the other half are yet linger¬ 
ing in the warm noon of middle age, I cannot but 
conclude that the theme is appropriate to the 
occasion. 

It is an error to suppose that our adolescent 
years should be given wholly to the accumulation of 
a great mass of cumbrous, didactic lore. It is equally 
a mistake to presume that we should hang down our 
heads and mope through the world like some gloomy 
gnome, afraid to be happy, ashamed to laugh. No 
man, woman or book will teach you such a hypo¬ 
chondriac philosophy. No, indeed; it is as much 
our duty to be happy as to be wise; for true wisdom 
and true happiness are almost inseparable. While 
we are amassing that intellectual wealth which is so 
noble and so useful, we should not wholly neglect 
the sentimental and the imaginative. While gather¬ 
ing in the ripe fruits of sedate wisdom, and hoarding 
up the shining mammon of the world, we should 



ADDRESSES. 


89 


pause occasionally to pluck a sweet wild-flower, or 
rest awhile from our toils in some sylvan retreat, or 
listen for a moment to the Orphean harmonies of 
nature. 

Acting upon this idea, I thought that after so 
much conjugating and parsing and ciphering and 
demonstrating, through the day, you might perhaps 
appreciate and enjoy something of a lighter and live¬ 
lier mood. I concluded that after working through 
so many weary hours, with problems and theories 
that tire and oppress the brain, it would be meet to 
enliven the evening, if possible, with some reflec¬ 
tions more pleasing to the fancy and congenial to 
the heart. 

Passion, in the sense in which I speak of it, 
is said by the best lexicographers to mean “ active 
emotion; ” “any mental feeling accompanied with 
desire, prompting to action;” “any active emotion 
or affection of the mind, as love, hatred, joy, grief, 
&c.“ vehement desire, ardor, zeal; ” k *love, at¬ 
tachment, affection.” Dr. Smith, in his admirable 
work on Moral Philosophy, treats the passions as 
high grades of affection, and defines them to be 
“ strong emotions or tendencies of the mind toward 
objects which we esteem to be good or evil.” 

I have no word of encomium for those violent 
and turbulent emotions of the soul, or those lower 
passions which belong more appropriately to the 
appetites than to the sentiments or affections. These 
storm-like gusts which break away from the cool 
restraints of reason, and hurry the individual head¬ 
long into the wildest follies and extremes, are to be 
deprecated and condemned. To restrain these pas¬ 
sions and keep them within proper bounds, is a pri¬ 
mary duty of the teacher, and a principal object of 
all just education. Any system of instruction which 
ignores this branch of culture is idle and worthless. 


90 


addresses. 


It is only by a judicious display of reason and re¬ 
flection, and by a wise and prudent moral restraint, 
that these passions can be brought under proper 
subjection. If they are thus judiciously controlled, 
they become noble springs of action, instead of be¬ 
ing, as they too frequently are, the tempests of the 
soul, the burning simoons that sweep destructively 
over the gardens of the heart. 

The principles of our nature as fixed and or¬ 
dained by the Omnipotent One, although imperfect 
and requiring restraints and culture, are yet wise and 
good; and they are great fountains from which flow 
all that is agreeable and great and good among men 
and women. These impulses need assistance; they 
need correction and control; but viitue does not re¬ 
quire, as has been insisted by some harsh and sour 
philosophers, that any of the sympathies, sentiments 
or passions should be entirely extinguished. They 
may be wrong in application, or wrong in excess, 
but they are not wrong in themselves. 

The man, for instance, without resentment, 
would be a tame, contemptible beast, and liable to 
be insulted and cuffed and kicked at every turn in 
life. And, on the contrary, one who is prone to 
rush heedlessly and blindly into strife and revenge, 
on every trivial provocation, might justly be re¬ 
garded as a disagreeable and dangerous beast of 
prey. The passions of emulation and love and 
ambition, have often elevated the human faculties 
to an extraordinary hight of glorious achievement. 
They are the favorable gales in the voyage of life, 
which waft us into the haven of our highest hopes 
and best achievements. Without them life would 
be dull and stagnant; its noblest impulses would 
cease; society would fall to pieces, and the springs 
of our happiness would be dried up forever. 

Beginning back at the fountain head of time, we 


ADDRESSES. 


91 


may assume that every high thought and deed owed 
its life to this mysterious zeal or enthusiasm, which 
is termed Passion in this discourse. Passing those 
awful and startling announcements, and those de¬ 
nunciations of woe upon our fallen race, which were 
said to have touched the hallowed lips of the pro¬ 
phets with fire, I might begin at the Christian era, 
and assert that the preaching of those who inaugu¬ 
rated the reign of the Gospel must have been at¬ 
tended with an unction and a zeal which melted the 
stony heart of an almost petrified humanity, and 
shook into fragments a cold and lifeless system of 
forms and ceremonies, which had been hallowed by 
the faith and service of a hundred generations of 
men. 

It is said by some of the historians of his time, 
that the Apostle Paul, while preaching, looked more 
like an angel than a mortal man. What must have 
been the depth and compass of his voice, the sweep 
of his gesture, the fire of his eye, when he reasoned 
of righteousness, temperance, and the judgment to 
come, in the presence of Felix? What must have 
been the consuming strength of his enthusiasm, the 
splendor of his elocution, in his celebrated speech 
before Agrippa, which extorted from that heathen 
and tyrant the exclamation — “Paul, thou almost 
persuadest me to be a Christian ! ” 

If Martin Luther had coolly and indifferently 
proposed and reasoned and assumed, in his minis¬ 
try, he would never have shaken the Romish Church 
to its foundations, and erected upon its ruins that 
great Temple of Protestantism, which has morally 
and religiously revolutionized the whole world. But 
instead of that dull and turgid style, we are told that 
his ardor and passion, like a resistless mountain tor¬ 
rent, bore down and swept away everything before it. 


92 


ADDRESSES. 


Behold the marvelous results of the zeal and 
pathos of Peter the Hermit, whose itenerant preach¬ 
ing aroused Europe, and kindled the whole civilized 
world into a flame of enthusiasm that culminated in 
the Crusades. A great spell, a religious hallucina¬ 
tion seemed to pervade the mind and heart of the 
Hermit, and his impassioned and mighty appeals 
have, perhaps, never been surpassed in any age. 
They called into being the most chivalrous and mag¬ 
nificent armies that ever marched to a tented field — 
armies that will never cease to be the wonder and 
admiration of the historian. 

So with Hall, Whitefield, Wesley, Spurgeon, 
Bascom, Talmage, Beecher and Moody. The secret 
of their might consists of a great volume of electric 
force, set in motion by powerful impulse and en¬ 
thusiasm, which pervades everybody and everything 
within its presence. It shames and confounds irrev 
erence; it sweeps away the strongholds of diabolism; 
it overwhelms and crushes infidelity; it captivates 
the heart, warms the frozen affections, and is thus 
vastly instrumental in spreading the conquests of a 
redeeming and heaven-born Christianity. 

The same reasoning applies equally to forensic 
eloquence. There was never a speech in a deliber¬ 
ative assembly, or at the bar, or on the hustings, 
that elicited a compliment, or roused an audience, 
or lived a day beyond the day of its birth, unless the 
(dement of Passion was in it to temper it with that 
force and inspire it with that vitality without which 
no speaking can be effectual. Demosthenes, when 
asked what was the first and most essential requisite 
of oratory, answered — 4 ‘action.” When asked what 
the second, he answered—“action.” And when 
asked what was the third, he still answered — “ ac¬ 
tion; ” thus adding the weight of his great authority 
to the idea that voice, look, emphasis and gesture, 


ADDRESSES. 


93 


which can only be inspired and moved by Passion, 
make up almost the whole of the orator’s shining 
weapons. 

It is related that Roscius and Cicero used often 
to indulge in sportive contests as to which could ex¬ 
press an idea the most fully and impressively — 
Cicero by words, or Roscius by actions or pantomime. 
And I believe it is added by the historian that the 
great Roman orator was, in most instances, obliged 
to yield the palm to his more impassioned and 
dramatic friend. It were needless to tell me that 
Passion can be borrowed or imitated. It can not 
be successfully done ! No counterfeit is so easily 
detected as a counterfeit Passion. 

It may be justly said that enthusiasm, heat, 
have breathed the very breath of life into every 
thrilling and effectual speech on record. Pretty 
words and sonorous periods may be thrown together 
during our cool moments; but those speeches and 
those appeals which stir men’s blood, and make the 
“ hair stand on end,” have invariably been thrown 
off at red heat, like the shining ore from the blazing, 
glowing furnace. 

Hennies remarks that “ a speaker will affect his 
audience according to the degree in which he is af¬ 
fected himself! How can that man transfuse the 
very life of passion into the souls of others, while 
he himself remains unmoved?” 

Addison says it is essential to oratory that the 
speaker should show by his manner that he is “in 
earnest and affected himself with what he so passion¬ 
ately recommends to others.” Another fine author 
speaking of earnestness or passion says: ‘‘It stim¬ 
ulates to thought and action, rouses the energies 
and fires the soul. It is something that is conta¬ 
gious, spreading from breast to breast, till the whole 
assembly becomes moved, as it were, by one irn- 


94 


ADDRESSES. 


pulse.” Webster, than whom there is scarcely any 
higher authority, says that ‘ 4 true eloquence does 
not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from 
far. * * * It must exist in the subject, in the 

man, and in the occasion. * * * It comes, if 

it conies at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain 
from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic 
fires, with spontaneous, original, native force.” 

What further need be said to convince you that 
Passion is the mysterious animus that inspires the 
orator with the wondrous spell of his power? If 
this truth could yet be questioned, I would appeal 
directly to the evidence of your own senses. I 
would ask you if you have not felt the witchery of 
some voice, whose tones you knew were rendered 
soft and musical by some deep and involuntary 
emotion ? Have you not been moved by the zeal 
and fervor of some speaker, while you scarcely 
heeded the words he uttered? Have we not all 
been delighted with the sermons of some fervid and 
enthusiastic minister when we scarcely believed a 
word of his doctrine? 

I am no apologist for bloodshed and carnage, 
nor would I utter one word calculated to stimulate 
in the youthful mind a thirst for martial glory. This 
war like spirit is an edged weapon, not often in re¬ 
quisition, and dangerous in the extreme; but which 
is sometimes a just, a powerful and an indispensable 
instrument in vindicating the right, and securing 
the highest and holiest objects of our existence. A 
war of conquest, a war of aggression or a war of 
plunder, is awfully wicked and barbarous; but I be¬ 
lieve the King of Heaven smiles approvingly upon 
him who battles for religious truth and purity, or 
unsheathes his sword in the hour of his country’s 
peril, and strikes for his family, his altar and his 
hearth-stone. From the hour in which lie nerved 



ADDRESSES. 


95 


the arm of the Jewish girl to smite the drunken 
tyrant—from the day on which his warrior-prophet 
bade the sun stand still — from the victory of the 
slender shepherd boy over the mailed and armored 
giant, down to the night in which he poured his 
foaming, impassable flood between the fugitive pa¬ 
triot army of Washington and the serried British 
hosts — down to the day on which he humbled in¬ 
fidel France at the feet of Christian Prussia, the God 
of battles has blessed the patriot's sword. 

Patriotism is a passion, love of human freedom 
is a passion, devotion to religious liberty is a passion, 
and it were impossible to estimate the instrumental¬ 
ity and potency of these high impulses and emotions 
in blessing and elevating the human race. The 
hardy Switzers owe their freedom to the iron arm and 
heroic heart of Tell, who scorned to bow to Gesler’s 
cap. The blood of Bruce and Sydney and Hamp¬ 
den has cried from the ground in voiceless language 
that shook the British isles and snapped the tyrant’s 
chains. Napoleon Bonaparte, the marvelous, mighty 
man — that “child of destiny,” with his gleaming, 
fiery blade, smote combined despotic Europe full in 
the face, and so crippled and blinded the demons 
of Oppression, that civil and religious liberty achiev¬ 
ed a growth of three hundred years while Europe 
staggered and floundered in her just humiliation and 
shame. Garibaldi, the brilliant and laudable revolu¬ 
tionist, has stricken the manacles from the limbs of 
Southern Europe, and given her the great boon of 
free religion. The blood of Warren and DeKalb 
and Kosciusko has blossomed into celestial flowers 
that deck the freeman’s brow. By the redeeming 
magic, and in the gleaming light of the patriot’s 
sword, a few crippled colonies scattered along the 
Atlantic coast, sprang into the attitude of a grand 
nation; and we, her favored sons and daughters, 


96 


ADDRESSES. 


can all rejoice to-day in the assurance that millions 
of her noble sons from the stern, heroic North, and 
from the impetuous and chivalrous South, stand ever 
ready to champion her rights and guard her life, as 
she treads on and on up the Pisgah-heights of her 
limitless and immortal future ! 

No one will question for a moment the assump¬ 
tion that poetry owes all its splendid achievements 
to the promptings of this divine afflatus. Poetry is 
the effusion, the quintessence of Passion. The in¬ 
dividual who writes poetry must be possessed by his 
art and his theme. As the precious stones and finer 
metals are said to have resulted from intense and 
long-continued volcanic heat, so these gems of 
thought can only emanate from some great excite¬ 
ment of the mind, or powerful emotion of the heart. 
Byron once said he could never get the English 
people to understand that ‘ 6 poetry was the language 
of passion.” Shakespeare, the master artist, recog¬ 
nizes this truth when, in describing the poet under 
the influence of his spell, he speaks of “ his eye in 
a fine frenzy rolling.” 

But it might bethought a slight or an injustice 
to the marriageable young ladies and young gentle¬ 
men present, if I did not say something at least of 
that very common affection of the heart known as 
the “Tender Passion.” Ah ! here opens up before 
us a garden so full of radiant flowers and ambrosial 
fruits, a landscape so diversified with green hills 
and shadowy vales, so checkered with winding streams 
and murmuring cascades, and so bright with rain¬ 
bows, that I feel almost abashed to cross its charmed 
boundary. It may be thought silly to define a pas¬ 
sion so common, so agreeable and so well under¬ 
stood; for, even now, it is vividly defined, and, 
may-be, highly realized in the hearts of most of these 
young ladies and gentlemen, while memory doubt- 


ADDRESSES. 


97 


less brings to the older ones present lively remin¬ 
iscences of their own affaires du cceur in the days 
of other years. 

Now, of course, you older ones have very dis¬ 
tinct and agreeable recollections of “the wooing- 
tlme in life,” 

•» When the birds in wood and grove. 

Sung forever of their love; 

When the earth was sweet with flowers. 

And the golden-winged hours,” 

flew joyously and swiftly away. You remember how 
all the day long you thought of him or thought of 
her. And you know, too, how the lively jest and 
sharp reproof were hurled at you because your heads 
were dizzy and your hands were unwilling servants. 
You remember how the dishes went unwashed, the 
house unswept and the cards and the wheel stood 
still. You elderly gentlemen recollect full well how 
the scythe, the plow and the axe lay idle, and noth¬ 
ing prospered but the wooing; and how the older 
heads mourned because they thought you were ill. 

But according to Noah Webster, love is “ af¬ 
fection,” “courtship,” “fondness,” “devotion.” 
Shakespeare declares it to be all made of “ sighs 
and tears,” “faith and service,” “duty and obedi¬ 
ence,” “patience and impatience.” Burns calls it 
a “ cloudless summer sun.” Scott says “love is 
Heaven, and Heaven is love.” Sharpe gives his 
opinion of it in this sparkling antithetic verse: 

•» Love is a palace grand and great. 

Holding the soul’s best treasures; 

Love is a tomb where lie in state 
The ghosts of buried pleasures.” 

Campbell regards it a “boundless, burning 
waste;” Moore treats it as “morning’s winged 
dream,” and Byron as “ glory circling round the 
soul.” 


98 


ADDRESSES. 


Love is at once the strongest and noblest of 
the passions. Whether we speak of the morning 
sunbeam of our youthful affection, timidly trembling 
through the light young heart, or whether we regard 
it as the noon-tide ray of passion’s riper dreams, it 
is interesting and beautiful still. When crossed by 
no unhappy stars, it is the source of the highest 
happiness; but when scorned or unrequited it be¬ 
comes a torture, the soul’s starvation, and its every 
breath is a whisper of woe. It carries within it the 
elements of intense joy and intense grief. It is 
sometimes woven of rainbows, and sometimes 
wrought out of weird, black shadows on a back¬ 
ground of starless and eternal midnight. 

The literature of lbve is more voluminous than 
any other literature. A song without it is generally 
a failure, and a book without it is a dry, insipid 
thing. Says Peter Bayne, the prince of recent 
critics: “ Take love out of literature and all of it, 
which is not strictly scientific—the simple state¬ 
ment of fact and law — all of it that lies within the 
province of the imagination, falls into incoherence 
and disruption.” Love has ever been the favorite 
theme of the romancer and the poet. And those 
authors who have shown themselves most ardent 
and felicitous in delineating the “ Tender Passion,” 
have always been, whether justly or not, the most 
popular. Of the prose writers, Richardson, Rous¬ 
seau, Dumas, Bulwer, Lamb, Bronte and Broughton, 
may be regarded as eminent in this respect. Among 
the dramatists, Shakespeare stands unrivaled. 
Burns, Moore, Byron and Tennyson have been 
very successful in tha poetical literature of love. 
Burns’s u Highland Mary,” and some other of his 
songs are justly celebrated for their deep pathos. 
Tennyson in many of his poems, and especially in 


ADDKESSES. 


99 


his u Enoch Arden ” and “ Gardener’s Daughter,” 
has given us some fine touches. 

In Byron’s Giaour, one of the most ornate and 
impassioned of his epic productions, lie makes that 
hero exclaim: 

“ The cold in clime arc cold in blood — 

Their love can scarce deserve the name; 

But mine was like the lava flood, 

That boils in ^Etna’s breast of flame.” 


Here we have a fearfully intense and perhaps 
an overwrought picture of Passion. But far more 
touchingly beautiful is the description of his own 
youthful passion, given in the “Dream: ” 

“ He had no breath, no being but in her’s; 

She was his voice; he did not speak to her. 

But trembled on her words; she was his sight, 

For his eye followed her’s, and saw with her’s, 

Which colored all his objects; he had ceased 
To live within himself; she was his life.” 


In Moore’s “ Loves of the Angels,” there may 
be found in the Second Angel’s Story the fragment 
of a beautiful song which exhibits this sentiment in 
this author’s happiest style: 

** A bark at midnight sent alone 
To drift upon a moonless sea; 

A lute whose leading chord is gone; 

A wounded bird that hath but one 

Imperfect wing to soar upon. 

Is like what I am without thee.” 


But in that sweet song of the “Lost Peri,” 
this poet makes his bethrothed girl speak thus to the 
noble youth who was dying of the plague. 

** Oh, let me only breathe the air. 

The blessed air that’s breathed by thee; 

And whether on its wings it bear 
Healing or death, ’tis sweet to me ! 

There — drink my tears, while yet they fall — 


100 


ADDRESSES. 


Would that nw bosom’s blood were balm; 

And well thou knowest I’d shed it all 
To give tli3' brow one moment’s calm ! ” 

The fond and faithful girl is said to have per¬ 
ished with her loved one; and the sigh of her last 
expiring moment was caught up by the Peri, and, 
supposed to be the gift most dear to Heaven, was 
borne to the crystal gates of Eden. 

Since wedlock was intended to be the destiny 
and the ultimatum of the gentle passion, and since 
its greatest happiness and best fruition are doubtless 
realized within this blissful state, I suppose I could 
not conclude this address more appropriately than 
by giving a stanza of the sweet song attributed to 
the masked Arabian Maid, in “The Light of the 
Harem.” No equal number of words ever threw 
over wedded love a brighter halo: 

•• There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, 

When two that are linked in one heaven^ tie, 

With hearts never changing- and brow never cold, 

Love on through all ills, and love on till they die ! 

One hour of passion so sacred is worth 
Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss; 

And oh ! if there be an elysium on earth, 

It is this, it is this J 











ADDRESSES. 


101 


AMBITION. 


ADDRESS BEFORE THE TEACHERS 1 INSTITUTE AT TOMP- 
KINSVILLE, KY., AUGUST, 1890. 

Young Ladies and Gentlemen: 

I greet you and congratulate you on your annual 
assembling as the teachers of our county, for Insti¬ 
tute work. I know you will reap both pleasure and 
profit from “the feast of reason and the flow of soul ” 
that mark your every session. As an apology on 
my part for occupying even a small portion of your 
time, I must plead the cordial invitation of your 
County Superintendent, Mr. Emmert. Knowing and 
appreciating, as I have known and appreciated for 
years, his zealous and successful labors as your 
chief educational officer, I did not feel at liberty to 
decline his request, or to withhold anything within 
my power which might possibly contribute to the 
entertainment of those assembled here. 

There is in this country a commonly received 
but erroneous notion that an education means a 
a complete knowledge of the spelling-book, the first, 
second and third readers, arithmetic, English gram¬ 
mar, geography, natural philosophy and a tolerable 
acquaintance with history —this and nothing more ! 
Now I assert that an educated mind must not only 
be familiar with the sciences, but it must be imbued 
with all those high aspirations, and generous and 
noble impulses which arm us for the life-battle, and 



102 


ADDRESSES. 


fit ns for good and useful men and women. These 
aspirations and impulses come not from the school¬ 
books. They are higher than books. They must 
be instilled into the young mind by precept and ex¬ 
ample, by lecture and conversation, by admonition 
and encouragement. 

Indeed, we are authorized to believe that the 
ancients gave the very highest degree of educational 
and scholastic polish by lectures. Epicurus, the 
founder of that system of philosophy which derives 
its name from him, imparted his doctrines to his fol¬ 
lowers viva voce. Zeno, who originated Stoicism, 
taught it in the same way; and if history be correct, 
that great man had no better school-house than a 
porch in Athens v where, month after month, and 
year after year, his disciples assembled, and im¬ 
bibed from his lips that magnificient code of ethics, 
which has made so many heroes. Many of the glo¬ 
rious names that flash like sun-lit jewels on the pages 
of Grecian and Roman history, adhered to the Stoic 
school. Aristotle, the founder of Peripateticism, 
taught in the same manner, and contributed to the 
world the wisest and best system of Pagan philoso¬ 
phy the human rape has known —a system which 
steers between the extremes of the other two, and 
is second only, in truth and beauty, to the Bible it¬ 
self. John Lock, that profound scholar, thatprintfe 
of meta-physicians, owned in his old age that a large 
portion of his knowledge had been gleaned from 
conversations. In the light of these facts and ex¬ 
amples, can you as Teachers, neglect or refuse to 
talk and lecture to your students, and impart to them 
these high aims and aspirations in life ? 

I take it that the object of all teaching is to fit 
and prepare us for good, noble and successful lives. 
If we are good we are sure to be happy. If we are 
noble we deserve to be honored. If our aims are 


ADDRESSES. 


103 


high, and we are successful, then arc we famous. 
These prefatory remarks bring me to my subject — 
Ambition. 

The word ambition, in common acceptation, 
means a vice. Thus, it is something foul and hide¬ 
ous—something to be feared and avoided. Well,I 
grant you that a sordid, selfish, wicked ambition is 
ruinous. 


*• Who wickedly is wise or madly brave. 

Is but the more a fool, the more a knave,” 

says Pope. This is true. One had better be a fool 
than possessed of knowledge to be used for wicked 
purposes. Pie had better be an arrant coward than 
to be endowed with a mere angry, ferocious, brutal 
courage. So, also, a man had better be a very 
drone than to be sordidly, wickedly ambitious. I 
warn you against such ambition as this. History 
shows us amply the awful consequences which at¬ 
tend it. Alexander climbed to the dizziest bights 
of this bad ambition. lie marched steadily on from 
victory to conquest, and from conquest to victory, 
until a suppliant world was at his feet. After weep¬ 
ing that lie had not another world to conquer, he 
died in a disgraceful scene of revelry. Nero, another 
example, after committing a thousand murders and 
atrocities set fire to Rome, his mother city, and sang 
to his harp the destruction of joy, Julius Caesar, 
that noble Roman, not content with the adoration 
of his countrymen, not satisfied with the green lau¬ 
rels that already decked his brow, aspired to be a 
king, and to build a throne upon the ruins of his 
country. But on that fatal Ides of March, while he 
stood in the Roman Senate expecting to receive a 
crown, lie fell at the hands of assassins. 

But ambition is a generic word. It has a higher 
and holier meaning than this, in its better mterpre- 


104 


ADDRESSES. 


tation it means emulation —a thirst for distinction 
in noble deeds and thoughts —a laudable desire for 
fame. This is the sense in which I commend it to 
you. This is the use of ambition, the other the 
abuse of it. 

Ambition was the Promethean fire that warmed 
the heart and illumined the fancy of Scio’s match¬ 
less bard, and enabled him to pour forth that ma¬ 
jestic flood of Epic song that mingled with and 
sweetened the very tide of time. It glowed in the 
breast of the younger Curtius as he leaped into the 
frightful chasm that had opened in the Roman forum. 
It made Robert Emmett what he was, and helped 
him to stand erect and dauntless amid his bloody 
British judges, and plead for his injured country. 
There, in that trying hour, with a felon’s doom be¬ 
fore him, he stood serene and unmoved like the 
proud condor on the rock of Peru’s coast, defying 
with equal composure the storm that raves and 
rends the atmosphere above, and the surging ele¬ 
ment that roars and dashes and towers below. 

I assume it as an axiom in the intellectual as 
well as in the physical world, that u nothing moves 
without a motive power.” An inanimate object, 
once at rest, is at rest forever, unless it is put in 
motion by a power. So in a great measure with the 
human intellect. Ambition is a tremendous motive 
power of the mind. You must have and feel and 
contribute to this power. Choose the path you intend 
to pursue, and then kindle the fire. Be ambitious to 
excel; and depend upon it there is no excellence 
without ambition. Go to work. Don’t sit down 
and hope and wait for something to happen to make 
you successful, rich or famous. I tell you now it 
will never happen ! There is no such thing in this 
world as luck ! The very word is a fraud and a 
burlesque on our language. I believe it is to be 


Addresses. 


106 


found in your lexicons, but it is nonsense. Go home 
and expunge it, strike it out. Don’t be missled by 
it. You might convince me that the sea is full of 
mermaids; or that nightly witches go skimming 
through the air astride their broomsticks; or that 
the hills and dales of classic Scotland teem with 
fairies; but you never can convince me that there is 
such a thing as luck, or hap, or fortune. You 
must work out your own destiny, and if you are to 
be successful you must work it out bravely. 

••In the lexicon of youth, 

Which fate reserves for noble manhood. 

There’s no such word as fail.” 


Young lady, your destiny is higher Ilian that 
of man. Your held of usefulness is wider; your 
career more fraught with the best and mightiest in¬ 
terests of society and civilization. Your empire over 
us is not an empire of fear and force and despotism, 
but it is an empire of love. The sceptre you sway 
over us, though gentle and willowy as the reed that 
waves and nods at the touch of the zephyr’s breath, 
is yet strong as hooks of everlasting steel. Your 
sex has graced and adorned every held of learning. 
Statesmanship, philosophy, painting, poetry, art 
and science have all been enriched by woman’s 
mind, and embellished by her plastic touch. Let me 
adjure you then,young ladies, to cultivate thosegraces 
and accomplishments of mind and heart, which con¬ 
tribute so much to your might and usefulness and 
happiness here, and ht you 60 well for the life here¬ 
after. Aspire to that lofty and noble womanhood 
contemplated by Byron in a stanza of his Hebrew 
Melodies: 

•• She walks in beauty like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies; 

And all that’s best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect and her eyes.” 


106 


ADDEESSEd* 


Young gentlemen, I take it that you have chosen 
your profession or avocation in life. Ambition 
must be the motive power to drive you on. You 
cannot succeed without it. And I now warn you 
that the measure of your success in whatever you 
attempt will be in exact ratio to the strength and 
momentum of your ambition. We learn from 
Quintilian that those who attained distinction among 
the ancients, would often retire to caves and prose¬ 
cute their studies there for months or years. Fear¬ 
ing that they might yield too soon to the seductive 
voice of pleasure, and mingle again with the world, 
they would shave half of their heads, so that it was 
thus put out of their power to appear in society for 
a time without appearing ridiculously. 

Behold the energy and self-sacrificing industry 
of Demosthenes and Cicero! They had great ob¬ 
stacles to overcome. Their first appearances before 
the people were hissed and ridiculed. But nothing 
loth, they buried themselves again in seclusion, and 
toiled and studied and practiced. Again they came 
forth with all their rich stores of learnin g and pathos, 
and this time were enabled to send forth a storm of 
eloquence, which, like the resistless mountain stream, 
swept everything before it. 

Ambition will give you an iron will. It will 
enable you to set your feet firmly in the rugged 
path, your eye on the shining beacon above and 
beyond, and to move along with dauntless courage 
and heroic tread. Like the mettled hounds of Ac¬ 
tion, you must pursue your object as well where 
there is no path as where there is one. You must 
not only strike when the iron is hot, but you must 
u make the iron hot by striking.” Strike like the 
fabled Cyclops of old, who forged the thunderbolts 
for Jove. 


ADDRESSES. 


107 




“Thus at the flaming- forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrought. 

And on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought.” 

You must rely upon yourself. Do your own 
work. Halt not in view of any barrier. Pause for 
no misfortune. 

»»When the world grows cold and dark. 

Keep an aim in view. 

And toward the beacdn mark 
Paddle your own canoe.” 

Go bravely into the life battle. Turn not aside 
to pluck the flowers that bloom along your pathway. 
Heed not the luring voice of pleasure, or the idiot 
laugh of revelry. Should gloom gather round you 
and hope begin to fail, look down into your own 
great heart, aud catch a spark of inspiration from 
the lire that’s ever burning there; stand up erect 
and firm and strong like McGregor on his native 
hills; shout your battle slogan, and you will find 
that before such purpose and energy as this, moun¬ 
tains will crumble into molehills around you! 

•• Is Fame your aspiration? Her path is steep and high; 

In vain he seeks the temple, content to gaze and sigh; 

The shining throne is waiting; but he, alone can take it, 

Who says with Roman firmness — I’ll find a way or make it. 

In love’s impassioned warfare, the tale has ever been, 

That victory crowns the valiant,— the brave are they who win, 
Though strong is beauty’s castle, a lover still may take it. 

Who says with Roman daring,—I’ll find a way or make it.” 

Now what has ambition achieved ? Temporally 
speaking, it has achieved all things. It has breathed 
the breath of life into every noble deed and thought. 
This it was that stimulated the immortal Dr. Harvey 
to toil through a long life in developing the physi¬ 
ological and anatomic sciences; and when, in 1628 , 
he demonstrated the circulation of the blood, though 
it cost him his life, it linked his name forever with 


ADDRESSES. 


108 

the healing art. Milton and Burns and Dryden and 
Thomson and Gray and Collins and Washington 
and Jefferson all quaffed at this Pierian spring. 

’Twas this kindling spark that animated Patrick 
Henry to stand forth in the Virginia House of Bur¬ 
gesses, like Gibraltar in the storm, and beard the 
British lion in his den. Behold him there, amid 
that vast throng, surrounded by British officers and 
despotic minions, as he utters for the first time the 
electric battle-cry of the revolution — “Liberty or 
Death.” Caesar, exclaimed the orator, had his 
Brutus, Charles the First, his Cromwell, and George 
the Third” — “Treason! Treason!” rises like a 
storm aronnd him. But the orator lifting his com¬ 
manding form to its full majestic height, and fixing 
on the chairman an eye of fire, from which he 
shrank as from the lightning’s flash, exclaimed in a 
voice that sounded above the tremult,— “May 

PROFIT BY THEIR EXAMPLE. If THIS BE TREASO N MAKE 
THE MOST OF IT.” 

Webster’s ambition enabled him in his youth 
and early manhood to delve down into the constitu¬ 
tion and jurisprudence of his country, and finally to 
forge the thunderbolts of thought for a nation. It 
inspired the brilliant and gifted Calhoun to suspend, 
as it were, in the heavens, that magnificent dome 
of thought, which was the wonder and admiration of 
the world. This laudable ambition carried Henry 
Clay from the swamps and slashes of Hanover, in 
early life, to the Council-House of his country. In 
1832 our sky was overcast with clouds that foreboded 
a horrid internecine strife. Fear came on all, and 
strong hearts trembled. But the orator sent out his 
clarion voice in the face of the gloom. The press 
caught up his burning words, and they echoed 
through all our hills and valleys. Their depth and 
power and pathos called forth a nation’s tears. The 


ADDRESSES. 


100 


clouds were dissipated and amity and fraternity re¬ 
stored. 

Again, in 1850, our ship of state was tossed on 
the angry ocean of sectional strife. The foam-capped 
billows rolled and dashed like revolving mountains 
around her. The thunders shook the mighty deep 
to its foundations, and the lightnings kissed old 
ocean’s briny cheek. “Lost! Lost!” went up from 
the thousands aboard. But an aged man appeared 
at the helm, his gray hairs streaming in the wind. 
He looked the tempest full in the face and said, 
“Peace, be still.” He laid his hand on the rudder; 
the ship obeyed his motion, and he moored her 
safely in the harbor. And high above the wild 
ecstatic shout that went up from the millions that 
lined the shore, was heard the name of “HenryClay.” 

Young ladies and gentlemen, feel this laudable 
ambition yourselves, and impart it to those whom 
it is your duty to educate. 


110 


ADDRESSES. 


WE MUST EDUCATE. 


CLOSING PARAGRAPHS OF AN ADDRESS BEFORE 
A COUNTY INSTITUTE. 

As I have witnessed, for some years, the vast 
growth of popular education; as I have noted the 
deep and ever-growing current of enthusiasm among 
teachers and trustees, parents and children for a 
higher and purer culture; as I have observed the 
elegance, the learning and the ability of this Insti¬ 
tute, seemingly in advance of all others; when I 
estimate your work and the work of two hundred 
thousand others of your calling, in this wide domain 
of ours, for two or three decades to come, I am made 
to wonder and to ask— u What will the harvest 
be?” Even now I seem to see the picture of the 
future rising on the canvas of the tancy, distinct in 
outline and vivid in coloring as reality itself. 

Wrapped in an apparent spirit of prophesy, 
and drawing inspiration from the scene around me, 
I gaze down the expansive vista of the future for a 
generation to come. I see the rivers widening, the 
lakes and lands, the valleys and mountains blending 
into a landscape of matchless beauty. I see the 
sunshine and the shade blending their changeful 
hues and graces all over the sylvan scene. Yonder 
the desert blossoms as the rose. Yonder the barren 
places evolve into fields and gardens teeming with 
the golden harvest. Yonder the church-spires rise 
from every hill-top, and the school-houses dot the 
illimitable valleys. 



ADDRESSES. 


Ill 


I scan the scene with keener vision,and behold 
the Bible and the School-book, the Minister and the 
Teacher are abroad in the land. I see the millions 
of happy people according boundless honor to these 
heroic leaders in this great evolution, this mighty 
change. I see the jails torn down, the prison-pens 
demolished. They are not needed here. I see that 
pestilence stalks no longer like a ghastly spectre 
through the land. God-given genius and science 
have swept it from the world. The rose of health 
is on every cheek, the light of joy in every eye. I 
hear the prophetic acclaim of the Jewish Shepherds, 
“Peace on earth, good will to men,” rising and 
spreading, deepening and widening till it covers 
the lands and the seas. I behold the wand of the 
Bible and the Scliool-book touching the distant na¬ 
tions and the lower races, and lifting them into a 
marvelous Christian civilization. I look again and 
I see in our owm heaven-favored land a hundred 
millions of happy people, blest with the best gov¬ 
ernment, the sweetest peace, the purest culture and 
the grandest wealth the world lias ever known. 

Ah! this is no fancy sketch. I seem to see it 
as in a vision. It is just out yonder in the future 
before yon. When 1 see around me the art, the 
science, the progress, the culture of to-day, as com¬ 
pared with their developement thirty years ago, I 
know thaf millions of the youth of this land are em¬ 
barking for the time and the place when all these 
things will be realized. 

It is a voyage, a journey to be taken. The scene 
lies just out yonder in the future! See the boats 
and barges, the trains and coaches, the companies 
and caravans, swarming by thousands to take you! 
Who will be left ? Who will stand still and buffet 
the storms and bear the stings of ignorance and vice, 
while the great, grand company of the youth of this 


112 


ADDRESSES. 


land, with banners flying and music pealing, are 
mustering like a mighty army l‘or the journey? 
Young man, young woman, do not be left, I beseech 
you! Do not hesitate, do not linger! You have no 
time to lose! I would not have you be rude and 
over-selfish. In most things, I would not have you 
jostle or run against other people. But do not be 
left, I adjure you, by this mighty procession. If you 
have to jolt some one, or tramp on some ones toes 
and mash them, or if you have to leap clear over 
the heads of some of the swaying, crowding mass, 
and alight where you may towards the front, do so, 
a thousand times do so, rather than be left! The 
prayers of parents and kindred and friends go with 
you. Angel hands beckon you on and stretch forth 
to greet you. 

This Institute, these Schools, the Press of your 
county, and of the State and Nation, all attest the 
marvelous march of progress and improvement. 
Teachers, this work is yours, in a vast degree. How 
shall you best perform it? I give you these hints to 
guide you, if to you they shall seem profitable, 


ADDRESSES. 


113 


POETRY AND ITS INFLUENCE. 


EXTRACT FROM AN ADDRESS. 

Young Ladies and Gentlemen: 

I appear in this role to-night, In response to a 
very cordial request of your excellent Commissioner, 
for the purpose of reading to you a manuscript poem, 
very hastily prepared for the occasion, within the 
last day or two. I do so, more with the view of 
lending the interest of variety and novelty to these 
exercises, than with the hope to enlighten or in¬ 
struct you. 

Poetry is far too much neglected by the masses 
of the people; and I believe it is almost, if not en¬ 
tirely, ignored by the theory and practice of 
the common school system in Kentucky. It has 
been my pleasure to attend, as a spectator, quite a 
number of Institutes; and it has been with regret, 
if not mortification, that I have seen their exer¬ 
cises invariably close without a single tribute to the 
beauty and worth of poetry, or a word on the im¬ 
portance of Prosody, that component branch of all 
our grammars, which teaches the art. Some ancient 
philosophers intimated that the orator was made, but 
the poet was born. While this may be true in a 
vague and general sense, it is certainly subject to 
very material qualifications. The faculties and fuc- 
tionsout of which grows the taste for poetry, as well 
as the ability to produce it, belong to every normal 
mind; and, like all other faculties, they are suscept- 



114 


ADDRESSES. 


ible of varied cultivation, and almost infinite devel¬ 
opment. 

The great group of the perceptives enables us 
to discover and take in the multitudinous inpressions 
from the outer world; Comparison enables us to 
compare them; Causality enables us tc reason from 
them, and, acting with Number, to carry the process 
of ratiocination to almost infinite lengths; Benevol¬ 
ence tempers them with humanity, and enrobes them 
with the mantle of charity; Spirituality refines and 
^moralizes these impressions from the outer world; 
Veneration hallows them with reverence for the 
Deity; Sublimity invests certain types of them with 
the grand, the majestic, the awful; Constructiveness, 
with its vast inventive and creative possibilities, fitly 
and harmoniously frames the whole together; but 
it is the province of Ideality, the sense of the beauti¬ 
ful, the true poetic function, to gather up these in¬ 
coherent and chaotic fragments, breathe into them 
the breath of its inspiration and its life, wave over 
them its mystic wand, and weave them into the 
gorgeous and glorious frost-work of poetry and 
song. 

Should we not cultivate our Ideality, then? 
Should we not feed and nourish that organ, the 
growth of which tends so powerfully to make us 
happier and nobler and better? And is it not pass¬ 
ing strange that in our public systems of education, 
and in our whole efforts to take in a higher order of 
intellectual food, and attain a loftier culture, we 
should forsake ambrosia for the coarser food, turn 
aside from green pastures, 'flecked with shade, gem¬ 
med with flowers and laved by cooling streams, and 
be content to graze on the bleak and cheerless moor? 

Some sage has said: u Show me the poetry of 
a people and I will tell you the character and the 
culture of that people.” There is a volume of truth 


ADDRESSES. 


115 


in the remark. It would be impossible to estimate 
the influence for good which poetry has exercised 
upon the human species. Ah! it was the stormy 
harp of Homer that gave to Greece her Leonidas 
and his Spartan band! It was the beautiful dreams 
of her classic poets that inspired the hand and guid¬ 
ed the chisel that cut into the mimicry of breathing 
life, the matchless statues of Apollo and Miverva. 
It was the aesthetic and artistic numbers of Virgil and 
Horace that gave Rome her highest polish, and em¬ 
bellished her brilliant Augustan age. 

The quantity of the poetry of Great Britain is 
immense, and the quality unrivaled. And accord¬ 
ingly the culture, the progress of that people, taken 
altogether, stands without a parallel in the world’s 
history. The caustic and polished Pope, the chi¬ 
valrous Scott, the nervous Pollock, the sentimental 
and flowery Moore, the dreamy Tennyson, the 
matchless “Swam of Avon,” the mighty Milton, 
whose heaven-strung lyre seems almost to have 
caught the music of the spheres, are even now 
exerting their wondrous influences for good on every 
civilized people of the globe. 

Indeed, we owe to the British poets much — 
nay, almost everything — for our own boasted and 
enviable artistic and ideal culture. In this, as a 
people, we have been in a measure content to wor¬ 
ship at the British shrine. And a feeling of lofty 
national pride should swell our hearts as we reflect 
that our own Halleck and Whittier and Bryant and 
Longfellow and Lowell and Miller and Taylor and 
Holland have sent back over the wide waters to the 
dear old mother-land, sweet voices of song not un¬ 
worthy their grand old teachers. 

Geography may acquaint us with the form and 
the face of the earth, its valleys and mountains, 
rivers and oceans, its empires, republics and king- 


116 


ADDRESSES. 


doms; through the medium of astronomy we may 
gaze familiarly upon the sun, the moon and the 
stars, and learn the beauties and wonders of the 
solar system; philosophy spreads out before us its 
limitless treasures of truth and law, respecting the 
physical world; history and biography parade be¬ 
fore us in one long and grand panorama, the nations 
and the peoples that have passed away — tkeir gov¬ 
ernments, their institutions, their arts, their sciences, 
their virtues and their vices; sculpture, with its 
wizard fingers, touches the cold, crude rock, and 
shapes and images of grace and beauty rise up 
before us, whose supernal symmetry and loveli 
ness we can see and feel, but never, never can de¬ 
scribe; painting, magician-like, throws upon the 
glowing canvas every visible thing of beauty, from 
the shining dew-drop or lowly flower to the halos of 
the sunset, the majesty of the ocean, or the gloom 
and the wrath of the storm; but, oh! it is thine, fair 
Poesy, to go out, dove-like, over the yet confused 
and barren realms of the heart and the soul, gather 
up the scattered and incongruous gems of the 
Beautiful, the True and the Good, and present to 
the mind and heart, in one glow of associated 
beauty, the pride of every model, the perfection of 
every art, the quintessence of every grace, and the 
glory of the whole real and ideal worlds! 

But I forbear. A field opens and widens be¬ 
fore me, to explore which, would require too much 
of your time. 


ADDRESSES. 


117 


GOOD READING. 


EXTRACT FROM AN ADDRESS. 

It is a matter of surprise to me that the art of 
reading is so much neglected in our common schools. 
Indeed, there is throughout the whole country, and 
in every circle of society, a most lamentable deficien¬ 
cy in this fine accomplishment. I dare assume that 
good reading is the most pleasing and valuable of 
all the arts or accomplishments to be acquired in our 
common schools, or even in the higher schools and 
colleges of onr country. 

Reading is the medium .through which the 
noblest and loftiest thoughts and feelings of the 
wisest and most gifted men and women who ever 
lived, are brought home to us in all their wondrous 
tenderness and beauty and power. In this art the 
voice, the countenance, the attitude, the gesture, 
the emphasis, the cadence, all combine to thrill us 
with the spirit and soul of the divinest and loftiest 
conceptions of genius. No limner can transfer to 
the spotless page, no painter can throw on the yield¬ 
ing canvas the spirit and beauty of the splendid and 
sublime effusions of genius so perfectly as they can 
be exemplified by the good reader. 

The tasteful and artistic picture on the page is 
motionless and dead; the true and beautiful con¬ 
ception that beams from the canvas is silent and 
still; the crude marble cut by the sculptor’s cunning 



118 


ADDRESSES. 


hand into the mimicry of life is voiceless, stark and 
cold. But oh! when the breathing thoughts and 
burning words of gifted genius are reproduced be¬ 
fore us, vital as life and true as nature herself, by 
the good reader, we are lifted into a higher and 
purer element; we get out from the dross of our 
human nature; our hearts are sublimated and puri¬ 
fied; we are assimilated to the beautiful, the true 
and the good; and we taste and enjoy the elevated 
and refined pleasures the mind ever feels in soaring 
through the loftier and purer realms of thought and 
feeling. 

Shakspeare sounded all the depths and shoals 
of the human heart. Ee permeated the whole uni¬ 
verse of mind and philosophy. He seemed a link 
between the finite and the Infinite, up to whose 
dizzy heights the hands of all aspiring and gifted 
spirits are forever stretched, but stretched in vain. 
But, sculpture-like, his inimitable beauties and glories 
lay cold, dormant and dead, till Garrick and Mc- 
Cready and Siddons “held the mirror up to nature,” 
and wrought into breathing, speaking life the match¬ 
less and eternal fruits of his dramatic muse. 

Only a small amount of perception and judg¬ 
ment is necessary to discern and realize that the 
good reader stands in the same relation to his or her 
auditors that an accomplished actor stands in to¬ 
wards the eager thousands who lean forward to 
catch from the histrionic master the spirit of the 
mighty artist. How delightful it is to have wrought 
out before us in all the eloquence of voice, counte¬ 
nance, attitude and gesture the profoundest lessons 
of vvisdom and the finest touches of pathos and feel¬ 
ing! Through this means Homer’s stormy harp may 
ravish our ears. Through this means Byron melts 
the heart, and Moore thrills it with all his gorgeous 
and surpassing sweetness. Through this medium 


ADDRESSES. 


119 


Bryant warbles the “ Song of the Fountain,” and 
Longfellow tunes liis liarp to the sublime oratorio 
or life’s highest and holiest philosophy. 

Good reading reverses the tide of time; it re¬ 
vives the past; it almost resurrects the dead. It 
restores to us the voice, the look, the grand and 
glorious thought of the prophets, sages, poets and 
philosophers of all the past, and gives to their 
sublimest conceptions a reality, a body and a form. 
Through good reading we may almost behold the 
prophet Joshua as he blew the horn around the be¬ 
leaguered walls of Jericho; and we may nearly hear 
the deep voice of Hector as the Grecians storm the 
Trojan heights. Through good reading we may, 
in fancy, see the wicked serpent as he whispers his 
dark and accursed sophisms in the ear of Eve in the 
primal garden. Through good reading we may 
glow with admiration for the sturdy Swiss patriot 
as he stands up bold, erect and towering and defies 
the Austrian tyrant. Through good reading we may 
kindle with lofty enthusiasm as we behold the brave 
Fitz-James, the disguised King of Scotland, dare 
tho brutal power of Rhoderic Dhu; and through 
good reading we may watch Macbeth as he clutches 
at the air-drawn dagger as he moves towards Dun¬ 
can’s chamber. 

Good reading paints to the eye and the heart 
the fabled Indian maiden in her far-off mountain 
home, and reveals all the spiritual depth and tender¬ 
ness of Hiawatha’s love. Good reading touches and 
moves the heart with Rip Yan Winkle’s sad and 
mournful soliloquy after his long, long sleep. 
Through good reading Pharsalia and Bannockburn 
and Waterloo pass in vivid review before us; and 
the mighty Csesar, the dauntless Bruce, and the 
matchless Napoleon are rehabilitated with plaid and 
plume and battle-axe, and move before us like em- 


120 


ADDRESSES. 


bodied spirits of battle. Through good reading the 
philosophy of Newton and Bacon and Locke, and 
the evangelum of Bascorn and Spurgeon and Tal- 
raage and Jones ring in our ears and glow in our 
hearts. If we have good readers, then Cicero lives 
again to us, and Burke and Curran and Phillips and 
Clay and Prentiss speak to us in all the marvelous 
power and sublimity of their eloquence. In short, 
the whole treasury of literature comes to us through 
this medium, embellished by the finest graces of 
elocution, and enriched by the best and purest con¬ 
ceptions of reality and truth. 


ADDRESSES. 


121 


BOOKS AND MODELS. 


A LECTURE TO THE YOUNG. 

Young Ladies and Gentlemen: 

You should never, for one moment, lose sight 
of the fact that your future will be in some measure 
what your surroundings make it, and in a still greater 
measure what you make it yourselves. From your 
earliest infancy until you are ten, twelve or fifteen 
years of age, it is the highest duty your parents and 
teachers owe you, to strive by every possible means 
to instill'into your young minds lessons of piety and 
moral goodness, perfect honor, sterling love of truth, 
rectitude of purpose, and a laudable desire for ex¬ 
cellence in some honorable pursuit in life. 

The dangers that beset little boys and girls in 
early life are almost beyond comprehension. It is 
during their tender years that evil associates are so 
apt to steal in, and, luring the little one from the 
immediate presence of parents or teacher, implant 
evil words and evil thoughts in the youug mind and 
heart. The young spirit is like a beautiful page — 
white, pure and spotless—yet still ready, willing 
and waiting to receive impressions; and impressions 
of some sort, for good or for evil, it must receive 
and will receive. If fair, bright pictures are not 
painted upon it; if the lessons and lines of morali¬ 
ty, honesty and lofty purpose are not engraved upon 
it, I warn you that dark images will appear, and 
blur and blot the once fair and spotless page; evil 



122 


ADDRESSES. 


associations, and may I say even the proneness of 
our race to evil tendencies, will come into the mind 
and heart and write and paint on the open page; 
and thus impressions will be made which only a 
long life of struggles, self-denial and discipline can 
in some degree obliterate. 

Ah! how many men and women there are in 
this world to-day who look far back across the gulf 
of years to the time when evil companions, or hours 
of idleness, or evil books came in and sowed the 
bitter seeds, which took root and grew up and flour¬ 
ished too long. Even though in a great measure, 
time and reason and religion may have rooted out 
the weeds and brambles, yet the marks and the 
traces and the memories are still there. Happy the 
little boy and the little girl whose parents and teach¬ 
ers keep watch and ward over them in their tender 
years, so that these evil influences touch them not! 
It may be regarded by the child as a hardship that 
it cannot select its own associates,and read its favor¬ 
ite books, and attend it favorite places of amuse¬ 
ment, and wander where it wills beyond the care 
and control of its parents and teachers; but when 
age and reason shall have asserted themselves, the 
man and the woman will bless the day in which 
parents and teachers watched after them in their 
young years and shielded them from the lurking 
evil. 

It is but natural for the child to imitate what he 
sees; he cannot help it. Richter, the great German 
author, says: “For the child the most important 
era of his life is that of childhood when he begins 
to color and mould himself by companionship with 
others. Every new educator affects less than his 
predecessor; until at last, if we regard all life as an 
educational institution, a circumnavigator of the 
world is less influenced by the nations he has seen 
than by his nurse.” Models are therefore of the 


ADDRESSES. 


123 


greatest importance in moulding the character and 
the disposition of the child. If we are to have noble 
characters we must supply our children with fine 
models, and keep them constantly before their eyes. 
Pictures hung on the walls have kindled esthetic 
tastes and the love for the beautiful in children, 
and made of them world-famed painters; good books 
and good models have moulded young minds to the 
noble and the good; and to their influences is the 
world indebted for all, or nearly all, of its great 
men and women. 

You cannot grow up to be good and useful men 
and women just by chance or by,accident. It was 
not so provided in the order of things. There is a 
struggle to make, a battle to fight, an enemy to 
overcome every year, if not every day and every 
hour. If you are to be happy and useful and suc¬ 
cessful in the world,your parents and teachers are to 
do much for you, and you are to do still more for 
yourselves. If you are to succeed in these noble 
efforts you must be as industrious and as ready and 
as persistent as Burns advises one to be, whose ob¬ 
ject is the accumulation of worldly wealth. He says: 

‘•To catch dame Fortune’s golden smile, 

Assiduous wait upon her. 

And gather gear by every wile 
That’s justified by honor.” 

You must have faith and hope and zeal to gird 
you about and strengthen you in the struggle to root 
out the weeds of vice, and to cultivate the flowers 
of virtue in your own heart. You must be quick 
to take advantage of every favoring wind and tide; 
and you must be willing to work and delight to 
work in every direction that speeds you on in your 
noble pursuit and your lofty aim. 

When you shall have grown old enough to read 


124 


ADDRESSES. 


and reflect, you will find good books of the greatest 
assistance to you. It is next to impossible for men 
or women to fail of moral or intellectual success if 
they shall have spent their youth and early life in 
the attentive reading and study of good books; and 
it is utterly impossible for them to succeed morally 
or intellectually if they shall have read and studied 
bad books to the exclusion of good ones in their 
earlier years. There is a kind of charm in print; 
there is magic in books. Though silent, yet they 
appeal most powerfully to us; they insinuate them¬ 
selves into our judgment and reason; they delight 
our fancy; they touch our heart; and thus they 
mould us insensibly and imperceptibly to themselves. 
And I must take occasion here to say that, in my 
opinion, the very best investment parents can make 
for their children, and the very best investment 
children and even adults can make for themselves, 
is that which is expended in the purchase of good 
books. 

I believe that if each family in our land were 
the owners of twenty dollars’ worth of good books, 
beginning with the Bible; and that if reading them 
aloud in the family circle, and commenting on them 
by parents and children, during the long winter 
evenings and the hours of rest at noon, and during 
portions of the beautiful Sabbaths that are too often 
wasted,—I believe if this was the rule that a mighty 
change would be wrought in the whole fabric of our 
society within a generation to come. I know that 
education would be far more generally diffused; I 
know that moral rectitude would receive, all over 
the land, a new impetus; I know that vice would 
be hedged about and crippled and would have far less 
room in which to grow; and I know that a wider, 
nobler and better culture would pervade and over¬ 
spread our whole country. 


ADDRESSES. 


125 


But, do yon ask what books you should read? 
Well, the answer to that can only be general. The 
books read by a young man or young woman should, 
in the main, be in the line of the pursuit he or she 
intends to follow. This is the era of cheap books. 
It is wondrous to think of the immense increase in 
the number of books, and the decrease in the price 
of them since I was a youth. Where there was 
one book in the United States forty years ( ago, 
there are one hundred now. A book that then 
would have cost five dollars you can now buy for 
one dollar. A book - that would have cost 
you one dollar then, you can now buy for ten 
cents. When I think of the immense, the amaz¬ 
ing opportunities now offered young men and women 
to become educated and enlightened, as compared 
with those at hand thirty or forty years ago, I am 
lost in admiration and astonishment; and I am made 
to ask: “Will you grasp and utilize these mighty 
opportunities, or will you letthem go unimproved ? ” 
If some of you fail to embrace and make the 
most of these opportunities, I tell you all will not. 
The genius of this age, this civilization of ours, is 
determined to educate. The genius of our institu¬ 
tions, of our people, of our civilization, is growing, 
widening and expanding. Standing on the moun¬ 
tain-tops it sweeps, with its eagle vision, far out and 
abroad and a-down the ages. With the mighty 
Past beneath its feet; standing aloft on the great, 
grand Present, it seems to gather and focalize the 
illimitable Future; it reaches upward and outward 
and far away, and girds itself fora new and loftier 
flight. Its talisman, its watchward is “Educate.” 
The boy or the girl who fails to catch the spirit of 
the times, who fails to improve the opportunities 
offered will soon be distanced in the race of life. 
The time has been when one with little education, 


126 


ADDRESSES. 


or none at all, could attain some measure of success 
in the world; but that time has gone to return no 
more. Thousands and millions of our youth are 
pressing to the front in this mighty intellectual pro¬ 
cession. They will crowd every trade, profession, 
avocation and calling; and let me now deliver you 
the warning that there will be no room in the great 
future, just out before us, for the man or the woman 
to succeed, who has failed in youth to improve such 
opportunities, and who presumes to engage in the 
life-battle without fitting culture and preparation. 

This country of ours and these institutions of 
ours put a premium on character, on knowledge and 
on industry. They offer an equal chance, and throw 
open a fair field to every boy and every girl. Think 
for one moment how a Divine Providence fovored 
you in casting your lot in this free country — this 
great Republic. Though but little more than one 
hundred years old, it is the pride and wonder of the 
world. How benign, how wholesome, how free our 
institutions! How vast our country and how expan¬ 
sive and wonderful the invitations and the oppor¬ 
tunities it holds out to its children! Although as a 
Nation, as one of the Powers of the world, it has 
scarcely doffed its swaddling clothes, yet its cradle 
extends from Maine to the Rio Grande — from the 
fruity plains of Florida to Behring’s sea; and while 
one hand plashes the crystal waters of the Atlantic, 
the other is laved in the sunset ocean. Courage, 
streugth and beauty are in every feature. Pinch 
the young giant and it does not cry. If foreign 
governments attempt to starve it by withholding 
its just nourishment; if they cover it with floods of 
abuse or ingratitude; if they hide its commercial 
toys; if they combine against it and shake it with 
financial convulsons; if they scoff at and scold it, it 
does not wince, it does not fret, it does not sicken, 


ADDRESSES. 


127 


Behold our sixty-three millions of freemeu, united 
in the strongest ties of brotherhood, with one hope, 
one cause and one destiny in common; with their 
backs turned on the dead past, and their faces to the 
future; bearing aloft the streaming ensign of Pro¬ 
gress and Christian civilization — an example to 
the modern world, the children of prophecy and the 
harbingers of the millennium! 

It is in such a country and in such an age, my 
young friends, that your lot has been cast. And in 
such a country and in such an age and in such a 
marvelous development you are beckoned, you are 
invited, you are besought to move to the front. Your 
state government has provided you the amplest 
means for acquiring the learning of the schools. 
Your parents who love you so much pursuade you 
and adjure you to move onward and upward and 
take a high position in life. It may be little you 
know of their anxious days and sleepless nights as 
they think of the future and ask themselves: “What 
is to become of my dear boy or my dear little girl ? ” 
They know if you use well and do not abuse the 
opportunities presented you will be safe. But well 
do they realize that if you reject and set at nought 
the intellectual and moral lessons that are pressed 
so hard upon you, then the future holds for you no 
beacon light, no star of hope. 

But to return to books: You should read first 
and read most the Bible, the Book of Inspiration. 
It is infinitely wiser than any or all other books, be¬ 
cause it is inspired. It is a revelation from the 
Creator to his creatures. It is all truth; it is all 
wisdom; it is the only infallible and absolutely safe 
guide to life and conduct. If you fully imbibe one, 
just one, of its great truths, it will be worth more 
than all else to you: “Remember now thy Creator 
in the days of thy youth.” With this truth in- 


128 


ADDRESSES. 


grained in the fabric of your young life, and putin 
practice, you have the key to all success, to all 
happiness, to all laudable achievement. Without 
it you are rudderless and helmless on an open and 
stormy sea. Wisdom of the world alone may bring 
you the evanescent applause of the multitude; genius 
that “sudden iris of the skies,” may attract the ad¬ 
miration of men; but without the tenets of the Bible 
as your guide in faith and conduct you cannot be 
truly happy, permanently successful or nobly great. 

You should read biography as much as possible 
in your adolescent years. Some writer has said that 
“Biography is history teaching by example.” In 
this held you may trace the careers of the great 
from the humblest beginnings. Here you have a 
school in which you may learn to avoid many mis¬ 
takes, and to seize upon many a favoring circum¬ 
stance to help you forward in the race of life. Here 
you will soon learn that nearly all great men and 
women had humble beginnings. Here you will 
find that, in the Divine order of things, it seems to 
have been reserved for the poor boys and girls to 
lead the world, and to lift up and ennoble the race. 
Here you will find examples that will stimulate and 
arouse you until study becomes a delight, “ a joy 
forever,” and here you can have companionship 
with nearly all the great men and women of history. 

If you ask for the titles of a few good books I 
will mention “ Beeten’s Dictionary of Universal 
Biography,” 4 4 Plutarch’s Lives,” Bossing’s 44 Emi¬ 
nent Americans,” 44 Self-Made Men,” by Mr. Sey¬ 
mour, “Brief Biographies,” by Samuel Smiles; 
“The Boyhood of Great Men,” Younge’s 44 Golden 
Deeds,” and 44 Noble Deeds of Women,” a book 
edited by an American woman. Read also the 
special and complete biographies of any or all the 
greatest and best men and women, who have, by 


ADDRESSES. 


129 


their learning, their examples or their works, shed 
lustre upon our race. And then there are “Thrift,” 
“Self-Helps” and “Character”—three books writ¬ 
ten by Mr. Smiles — either of which is worth its 
weight in gold to any family of children. This 
great author gleans all history for facts, examples 
and illustrations, in order to inculcate the best les¬ 
sons in the young mind; and he brings this wealth 
of historic treasure down to the capacity and com¬ 
prehension of children, and imparts these great 
truths in a style the most captivating and pleasant. 

It would be a rather unnatural boy or girl who 
could read a few good biographies and fail to find 
in some of them a model, a man or woman in hist¬ 
ory whose character and whose achievements called 
out his or her admiration, and whom the boy or the 
girl would be so glad to follow and imitate in life. 
There is scarce a better method of truly and surely 
progressing in the intellectual and moral life, than 
by selecting good models in history and clinging 
close to them. Indeed, it is more than probable 
that most men and women, who have risen to dis¬ 
tinction in life, have set up to themselves models 
for their imitation, and closely followed them. Pope 
took Dryden for his model; and while yet a little 
boy went into raptures almost, when the great poet 
was pointed out to him. Milton must have taken 
Homer for his model. Napoleon took Julius Coesar 
for his, no doubt. Edmund Burke was a model for 
Daniel Webster and William E. Gladstone. In 
William Pitt, the great English premier, one can 
trace the prototype of Cohoun, the distinguished 
South Carolina statesman. And who can fail to 
note the resemblance between Rufus Choate and 
John Philpott Curran, or between Bishop Bascom 
and John Wesley? 

Let the books you read and the models you 


130 


ADDRESSES. 


imitate imbue you with the importance and the 
power there is in character. Courage,conscientious¬ 
ness, good motives, a strong will and a serene tem¬ 
per, will soon stamp the boy or the man with char¬ 
acter. Such was the character of Washington that 
his name seemed to have a talismanic charm about 
it. No other man ever exerted such an influence 
over the people of any country as he did over the 
people of this country. This arose less from his 
genius or his wisdom than from the greatness and 
grandeur of his character. Pompey,the great Roman, 
once said: “If I but stamp my foot on the ground 
in Italy, an army will appear.” A historian says that 
at the voice of Peter, the Hermit, “Europe arose 
and precipitated itself upon Asia.” It was said of 
Caliph Omar, the conqueror of Palestine and of 
Egypt, that “ his walking-stick struck more terror 
into those who saw it than another man’s sword.” 
It seems from all history, and from all we know and 
see, that the very names of some men are like the 
blast from a trumpet. When the Scottish Douglas 
fell mortally wounded on the memorable field of 
Otterburn, he commanded his followers to shout 
his name louder and louder, telling them that there 
was a tradition in his family that a dead Douglas 
should win a battle. The troops obeyed, and the 
terrible name of Douglas echoed and re-echoed far 
over the field. The opposing forces were panic- 
stricken and fled, and the clansmen of Douglas were 
the victors. And thus the Scottish poet has em¬ 
balmed the event in verse: 

•♦The Douglas dead, his name hath won a field.” 

But in selecting your models, see to it that in 
their youth they were steady, diligent, honest and 
upright. It was a wise man who said: “The .boy 


ADDRESSES. 


131 


is father to the man.” A true boy will make a true 
man, and vice verse. The boy who excels in school 
in character, perseverance and good behavior, will 
excel among men in just the same proportion. The 
boy who is not a guide, a pattern, a leader among 
boys, is not apt to be a leader among men. Had 
danger suddenly*arisen when Napoleon or Washing¬ 
ton or Grant or Stonewall Jackson was among his 
playmates at school, by commen consent, and with¬ 
out a moments hesitancy, he would have taken the 
lead in meeting and overcoming the danger. If 
there be in school a good and true boy to whom his 
playmates will carry their disputes and difficulties 
for adjustment, he is a great man, a true man, in 
embryo; and he will make an arbiter and a leader 
among men. If therefore you would be great men 
you must be great boys. You must begin now to 
be great, You have no time to lose. It is nearly, 
if not quite, too late to begin to be great when your 
youth is gone, when your habits are fixed and your 
probation is ended. 

Let it be your care in setting up to yourselves 
models for imitation, to select such only as hon¬ 
ored, respected and obeyed their parents in youth, 
and who cherished their memory affectionately 
through life. You will scarcely find on the pages of 
history a man or woman of greatness who did not 
love and obey his or her parents. “ Honor thy 
father and mother,” saith the “Book of Books.” 
There is scarcely one feature in history more remark¬ 
able than the almost universal fact that the good and 
great have loved, obeyed and reverenced their 
mothers. It were needless to mention names, for 
there are scarce any exceptions to the rule. When 
the great Garfield stood up before thirty thousand 
people and took the oath as President of the United 
States; his aged mother, who had watched so ten- 


132 


ADDRESSES. 


derly over his helpless infancy; who had counselled 
and encouraged him in his youth;and whose prayers 
and benedictions had followed him when he went 
out into the wide world to seek his fortunes,—stood 
by his side. And the first thing he did when the 
oath of office had been administered, was to turn 
and imprint a reverent and filial kiss on the worn 
and wrinkled brow of his dear old mother, while a 
nation cheered and applauded. 

It is scarcely within the power of any* man or 
woman to repay in a life-time of affection and duty, 
the love, the care and the solicitude of parents 
during infancy and childhood. How anxious are 
parents for the welfare of their children, and how 
willingly they wear out their lives in their service ! 
How they hope that good may always attend them, 
and how they dread the evil! And oh ! how trying 
it is upon the parents, when the tender family ties 
are broken, and the dear boys and girls leave home 
and hearth-stone, and go out, one by one, into the 
wide world ! Buoyant with life and hope, the boys 
and girls may treat it lightly; but to the father and 
the mother it must be a trying hour. Then the 
dolls and play-houses and stick horses are no more. 
The bows and arrows are broken; the bird-traps 
have fallen to pieces, and the flutter-mills cease to 
turn in the streams. The boys and the girls go out 
to try the stern realities of life; and how anxiously 
the father and the mother watch their career! How 
they weep at their troubles, misfortunes and fail¬ 
ures, if they come; and how they rejoice at their 
successes, and glory in their prosperity and happi¬ 
ness in life! 

My young friends, forget not your parents in 
their old age. You will never find elsewhere in 
life such friends as they. Other .friends will fail 


ADDRESSES. 


133 


you, but they will not. If you drift into the ways 
of folly and crime, and retributive justice overtakes 
you; if you wander homeless and barefoot and rag¬ 
ged, your mother and your father will love you still; 
and would nearly or quite sacrifice life to help you 
and to save you. Think of them gratefully, filially, 
tenderly. Return to the old home often; talk over 
the olden times when you were children; renew and 
keep strong fraternal ties; and you will thus become 
better, truer and nobler men and women. For I 
warn you now that the time will come to each of 
you, if you live to old age or middle age, when you 
will look back to the morning of life as the dearest, 
the happiest period of your existence. How I wish 
I could persuade boys and girls to make the most 
of their youthful years! When age with its cares, 
its sorrows and its lessons comes on, you would 
give a world of wealth to turn back and live again 
one day of your youth, when mother and 
father and sister and brother were with you. You 
will, one day, come to know and understand that 
your parents were not harsh and unfeeling because 
they restrained you, and corrected you in your 
young years; and you will come to know and real¬ 
ize that it all grew out of their strong and abiding 
solicitude for your own good. The time will come 
when you will find from your own reflections and 
experiences that it even grieved them more than 
you, to administer the stern correction, or to say, 
“No, no,” when you so much desired to do this or 
that, or go here or there, when they knew it would 
not be well for you. 

My young friends, begin early in life to be 
good and great; resolve to turn aside from no ob¬ 
struction in the way; determine to avail yourselves 
of every means which your State and your parents 


134 


Addresses. 


offer you, in order to become educated and enlight¬ 
ened, and then to do the rest yourselves; choose 
good books and good models and follow them; be 
not content to drowse through life, “like dumb 
driven cattle,” but resolve to be “a hero in the 
strife;”—do these things, and in manhood or wom¬ 
anhood, your position will be lofty, your life will 
be successful and happy; and then when the final 
summons comes you will “go not like the quarry- 
slave at night, scourged to his dungeon,” but you 
will pass gently to your rest, 


“ Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.” 



Addresses. 


135 


GEN. WILLIAM T. HASKELL. 


SOME REMINISCENCES OF TENNESSEE’S GREAT AND 
GIFTED ORATOR. 

Popular oratory has, doubtless, for all time, 
been one of the most potent factors in human civ¬ 
ilization and progress. The editor and the orator 
have gone hand in hand in the vanguard, to battle 
against error in its strongest intrencliments, to 
break the oppressor’s rod, and to secure to humanity 
the greatest happiness, the largest liberty and the 
highest and purest culture. 

A little reflection will convince any one that 
there ever hangs around the great and gifted orator 
a charm, a peculiar fascination, which renders him 
an object of interest to the uncultured, as well as to 
the educated and refined. If one come among us 
wearing the name and fame of an orator, our ex¬ 
pectancy is at once raised on tiptoe, and we are 
already prepossessed in his favor; when he rises to 
speak we hang breathlessly on his words; we yield 
gladly to his spell, and joyfully we follow him, like 
children, whithersoever he leads us. 

There has not, in all time, been a country in 
which popular eloquence has been more widely dis¬ 
seminated, or in which it has wrought grander 
achievements, than in the United States of Ameri¬ 
ca. It has led the orphan and the poor and friend- 



136 


ADDRESSES. 


less, step by step up the ladder, and given them 
niches high up in the temple of fame. It has pro¬ 
cured for us the enviable reputation abroad, of being 
a “Nation of Orators.” Its clarion tones have 
roused our millions to war,when war seemed neces¬ 
sary to maintain the freeman’s right; and again its 
seductive and resistless pleadings have stayed the 
warrior’s arm and called back the “dove-eyed peace.” 
It has woven the inextricable web around the guilty, 
and sent them to their deserved doom; it has 
snatched the innocent from the stain of dishonor 
and the jaws of death; and in our state and national 
legislatures, it has sounded all the depths and shoals 
of statesmanship and political philosophy. 

Happily for our country, many of the best ef¬ 
forts of our Clays, Websters, Calhouns and Everetts 
have been preserved. The biographies of these 
great men,with many descriptions of their elocution 
and its effects upon audiences, have been preserved, 
and these must ever prove an inexhaustible source 
of instruction and enjoyment to the laudably ambi¬ 
tious young men of our country. But there be¬ 
longed to the last generation three or four men 
whose magnificent efforts as orators passed away 
with them, or linger only in the memories of those 
who were so fortunate as to witness them. Among 
these brilliant names may be numbered S.S.Prentiss 
of Mississippi, Thomas F. Marshall of Kentucky, 
and William T. Haskell of Tennessee. These gift¬ 
ed men blazed up in our sky like great comets, 
illumined the heavens with their splendors for a 
season, then passed away, leaving little trace of 
their glories, save in the hearts and memories of 
those who saw and heard them. 

During the presidential campaign of 1856, it 
was my good fortune to see and hear Gen. Haskell, 


ADDRESSES. 


i r> — 

lO/ 


the greatest orator of Tennessee, if not the most 
marvelously eloquent and gifted America has pro¬ 
duced. Ue was at the time one of the candidates 
for elector for the state of Tennessee, on the Fill¬ 
more and Donaldson ticket. He was making a 
thorough canvass of the state, and receiving perfect 
ovations wherever he went. The state of Tennes¬ 
see and the adjoining states were full of his fame 
as an orator; and when he spoke in the northern 
counties thousands of Kentuckians poured across 
the line to see and hear the great man. Yast crowds 
of people followed him from one country town to 
another, often in processions and with music, ban¬ 
ners, mottoes and transparencies. 

It is probable there never was such a display 
of popular eloquence, or such intense political en¬ 
thusiasm aroused in any other canvass of a state in 
this union, unless it was equaled by the canvasses 
made for congress by Prentiss, in Mississippi, in 
1837 and 1838. Those who remember Gen. Ilas- 
kell’s polemic efforts during that campaign, must 
surely regard them as the most magnificently elo¬ 
quent ever delivered on the hustings of Tennessee. 

I heard him in the early part of October, as I 
now remember, and in one of the counties border¬ 
ing on the Kentucky line. I was a mere youth, 
fifteen years of age, and had gone over from Ken¬ 
tucky with a large concourse of Kentuckians, to see 
and hear the famous Tennesseean. As was usual 
during that campaign, an elegant stand had been 
erected for the occasion, in a shady grove, and 
adorned with banners and devices, and festooned 
with flowers. All the roads and approaches to the 
ftand were swarming with anxious crowds of people 
during the forenoon: and by one o’clock the great 
audience had assembled and become still, and were 


138 ADDRESSES. 

waiting with silent eagerness to catch the first 
glimpse of the great orator. 

Presently several well-dressed strangers walked 
up the valley from the village near by, and entered 
the long aisle in front of the stand and leading 
directly to it. Every one at once recognized Gen. 
Haskell. At least I did, boy as I was. There 
was a peculiar grace and dignity about him that 
distinguished him from all other men I ever saw. 
He must have been six feet and two or three inches 
in height. He was erect, symmetrical and exquis¬ 
itely shaped as an Indian runner. His hands and 
feet were small and beautiful as a high-born lady’s. 
His head was of medium size, but so finely and 
nobly developed that it would have been the delight 
of a phrenologist. He then wore his hair rather 
long, and it was glossy and black as the untamed 
raven’s wing. His features were regular, clear-cut 
and beautiful as if chiseled by some of the old 
Grecian masters. His forehead was open, wide and 
high; his eyes large, dark-brown, lustrous and beam¬ 
ing with coruscations of genius. They seemed to 
play upon, pervade and mesmerize an audience, 
until the beholder could have wished to penetrate 
to their very depths and grow more familiar with 
the beautiful and mighty soul within. 

Dressed always in the finest and most exquisite 
style, his appearance in the great gatherings of the 
time, recalled to one’s mind the heroes of Scott and 
Bulwer. He towered in the ranks of ordinary men 
like Jura amid the lesser Alps. He seemed like 
some knight of the olden time, who, by some 
strange revolution, had been lost from the age and 
the scones of chivalry, and who deigned to pause 
awhile, to mix with common men, to lift them to a 
grander, nobler height, to warn them of an impend- 


AbDEESSEfc. 


139 


ing danger, and in some great crises to give counsel 
and command. To behold him anywhere—in the 
drawing room, in the social circle, moving among 
the masses, or amid the lightnings and thunders of 
his eloquence, in the full tide of his discourse, he 
appeared like an archangel only a little marred. 

When he stepped forward to speak, all eyes 
were riveted upon him, and breathless silence reigned 
throughout the vast assembly. Every motion, every 
gesture, every attitude, every tone of the speaker 
seemed the very essence of propriety, fitness and 
good taste. He drawled out no stereotyped apology 
for being indisposed or unprepared to speak. He 
wasted no time on dull and worn-out commonplaces. 
He sought no filagree ornaments to set off his sen¬ 
tences. He attempted no garish periods. But, 
like a strong man, conscious of his strength, he 
bounded at once into the heart of his subject. He 
did not borrow his style or phraseology from the 
ordinary politicians of the day. He pursued no 
beaten track. But he seemed rather to cut out a 
new channel of thought, and to clothe his ideas in 
a new vocabulary of words. 

There was, in his oratory, no straining after 
effect, no effort at the tricks of the elocutionist. 
Every look, every gesture, every intonation seemed 
exactly suited to give the greatest force to the ex¬ 
pression, and the clearest and most vivid conception 
of the thought. There was nothing so peculiar 
about his delivery as the peculiar and fitting adapt¬ 
ation of every part of it to the spirit of the idea 
intended to be conveyed. Apparently without ef¬ 
fort, he seemed divinely fitted “to hold, as ’twere, 
the mirror up to nature; to show virtue ’her own 
features, scorn her own image, and the very age and 
body of the time, his own form and pressure.” As 


140 


ADDRESSES. 

one who listens to the touching strains of music, is 
for the time unmindful of the instrument, so his 
auditors, while continually gazing intently upon him, 
seemed to forget the man in looking upon the vivid 
idea, and drinking in the beautiful sentiment, or 
the grand and overwhelming thought. 

Of documents, notes and papers, those favorite 
and indispensable concomitants of small politicians, 
he carried none at all. He was gifted with a most 
retentive memory, and quoted,when necessary, from 
platforms, messages, resolutions and speeches, ver¬ 
batim, stating when and by whom the language was 
used, and precisely where it could be found. At 
one time he would glide along some line of narra¬ 
tive, or mere statement of fact, as smoothly and 
beautifully as a limpid streamlet meandering 
through a flowery meadow. At another moment, 
and in just the right place and in due season, he 
would fling at his political foes a touch of his cor¬ 
rosive, burning sarcasm. These thrusts were some¬ 
times so incisive, so quick and so keen that the 
audience would fairly wince as if touched by the 
point of some gleaming blade. Now he would con¬ 
duct his audience through the minutia of a terse and 
profound argument. All was clear, all strong, all 
convincing. So clear were the statements, so apt 
and logical the reasonings, that a child might com¬ 
prehend them, and grasp the just conclusion. 

His wit was bright and keen as a Damascus 
blade; and when he desired to relax and rest his 
audience for a moment, he would, with a look and 
tone and action that could be seen and felt, but 
cannot be described, let fly an electric spark of 
humor, and then roars on roars of laughter would 
convulse and sway the great crowd. Then he would 
resume the current of his thought, which deepening 


ADDRESSES. 


141 


and widening as he proceeded, seemed like some 
mighty river, bearing on its majestic bosom the 
wealth of all ages, the fruits of every clime, and the 
very fate and destiny of this great country. Then 
he would picture, in the most graphic and withering 
manner, the short comings of the opposite party. 
First would come the statement, then the proof, 
and then the stinging, scathing, merciless rebuke, 
poured forth in words that burned and blistered 
where they fell, uttered in tones so stormy and in¬ 
dignant, or hissed through lips curled and quivering 
witli such unutterable scorn, that the great mass of 
living beings around him would catch the conta¬ 
gion, and almost clutch about them for the brands 
of battle with which to sweep the imagined miscre¬ 
ants from the face of the earth. 

During the two hours and forty minutes which 
he occupied in the delivery of that speech, he had 
conducted his hearers through nearly the whole 
gantlet of the passions. Sometimes his voice had 
been soft and sweet as the breathings of a distant 
lute; sometimes as sharp, emphatic and ringing as 
the clash of a stricken anvil; and again loud and 
strong as the tones of thunder. Sometimes his un¬ 
usually expressive face had been calm and serene 
as a Sabbath morning; again, beaming with the soul 
of mirth; and yet again, when he launched his 
thunderbolts of invective against his political en¬ 
emies, and hurled at them epithet piled on epithet 
until the language seemed exhausted, his brow was 
dark and lowering as the angry storm-cloud from 
which the lurid lightning was about to leap. 

But at last, gathering up and concentrating his 
remaining strength, standing erect, commanding and 
kingly, his face radiant with high hope and lofty 
resolve, his bosom heaving with pent-up enthusiasm, 


142 


ADDRESSES. 


and his voice rising higher and higher with each 
succeeding sentence, and ringing like the clarion of 
a Scottish Douglas summoning his clansmen to bat¬ 
tle, he delivered the most magnificent peroration I 
ever heard. I cannot describe it; 1 cannot repro¬ 
duce it. Yet fragments of it have clung to my 
memory through all these intervening years, and 
they haunt me yet, with their marvelous beauty, 
like the wandering notes of some long-lost melody. 



ADDRESSES. 


143 


EULOGY ON DAVID CROCKET. 


Hero-worship is as much and as distinctively an 
element of human nature as pride, ambition, self¬ 
esteem, veneration, or any other passion or pre¬ 
dilection of our race. Wherever civilization hath 
set her foot, the matchless pyramid, the moldering 
cenotaph, the chiseled marble, or the towering 
monument, attests the admiration of the passing 
ages for their heroes. From the days of Moses 
and Joshua, the Jewish patriarchs and warriers, 
down to Alexander and Scipioand Csesar and Char¬ 
lemagne and Napoleon, and to our own Washington 
and Jackson and Lee and Thomas, genius and 
courage have ever received their unstinted meed of 
praise and admiration. 

This disposition to honor and extol the heroic 
in all history is a redeeming trait of our nature. 
It lies at the foundation of all just enterprise; it 
may be called the motive power of every chivalrous 
deed. It has swung the warrior’s arm of steel in 
ten thousand battles for the right. It has inspired 
the patriot to cut his way through blood and carn¬ 
age, to victory and immortality. It has kindled 
the watch-fires of advancing civilization on the 
bleak and lofty mountain-tops of the frontier, amid 
the fearful howlings of the wild beasts, and the 
still more fearful yells of the wilder savage. 

The history of no time or country is so abun¬ 
dantly rich and voluminous in deeds of heroic daring 



144 


ADDRESSES. 


and romantic incident as our own. The tilts and 
tourneys of the olden knights, the chivalry of the 
crusaders, the tales of the Scottish border, when 
divested of the enchantments which distance lends, 
and stripped of the glamour of romance, are tame 
and dull beside the heroic deeds of the hardy sons 
of our own country. The world has never yet, nor 
can it in the future, present to the chronicler 
another field, or another period, so brilliant in 
heroic adventure, as that covered by our own history, 
from the settlement at Jamestown to the present 
time. Ah ! our youth need look no farther than 
our own unvarnished annals to find Spartan courage, 
Roman valor, the hand of iron and the heart of 
steel. 

Take David Crockett, born amid the green 
hills of Eastern Tennessee, ninety-seven years ago, 
of parents the poorest and most obscure, but of 
revolutionary stock, with just enough of the blood 
of glorious old Erin in his veins to give that cour¬ 
age, wit and elasticity of spirits which afterwards 
made him famous; watch him as he grows up abso¬ 
lutely without education or the learning of the 
schools, subjected to the hardest drudgery and toil, 
yet full of prank and pluck and manly hope; be¬ 
hold his humorous courtship and marriage, as 
illustrating life in the back-woods; his humble be¬ 
ginning of life’s battle in the dense and remote 
forest, with no friend but his brave, good wife, his 
axe and his trusty rifle; follow him as he presses 
westward, hard upon the stealthy savage and wild 
beast; see him again and again as he springs to 
meet the red enemy, when the southern frontier is 
endangered; look at him emerging from the cane- 
brake, clothed in hunting-shirt and coon-skin cap, 
and rifle in hand, poor, unknown, unlettered, un 


ADDRESSES. 


145 


heralded; see him leap like a young giant, full into 
the political arena, encounter talent and experience 
on the stump, and wealth, chicanery and combina¬ 
tion in the held, and yet triumph over all, and take 
his seat in the halls of the American Congress, as 
the. friend, the ally, the pet of Clay and Webster; 
see him beard the executive lion in his den, for 
the sake of sturdy, home-bred principle; go with 
him in his triumphal tour through the New England 
states and cities; listen to the long, loud acclaim of 
the thousands that line the shore, as their eyes 
catch the tall form of Crockett on the deck, as the 
stately vessel nears the landing at Philadelphia; 
witness his ovation at New York and Boston and 
Lowell; recall his glorious death at the Alamo, in 
defense of the liberties of an oppressed people,— 
and you have one of the grandest historic figures 
in American annals. 

No other country than this, and no other por¬ 
tion of this than the free, the vast, the boundless 
West, could have produced such a man. Strong, 
brave men were they, the hardy pioneers, who drove 
back the savage man and the savage beast, and 
planted society and civilization in the western wilds. 
These were a race of giants! The timid never 
started, and the weak and puny never reached those 
stirring scenes, or reached them only to retreat in 
dismay, to the security and quietude of the East. 
David Crockett is the best type of the truest, hardi¬ 
est and most heroic of the first and foremost race 
of modern men. So long as the history of our 
development and our times shall be read by tuture 
generations, the unique, heroic figure of David 
Crockett will stand boldly and commandingly out 
in the foreground. No obscurity of birth, no want 
of learning, no poverty, no opposition, could daunt 


146 


ADDRESSES. 


his indomitable spirit. He sprang from the bosom 
of the people, loved the people, and they loved and 
trusted him, and delighted to do him honor. 

The bugle blast of war never failed to reach 
the ear of David Crockett in his time. “Of such 
stuff was he made,” that the occupations of home 
and retirement grew irksome and insupportable 
when the drum-beat called to the tented field. The 
sight of the painted Indian foe strung his nerves to 
their utmost tension. The scream of the savage, 
the crack of the rifle, the clash of the knife, were 
music to his martial ear. I challenge all comers to 
name a single man in all our history, whose life 
presents an unbroken example of loftier courage, 
nobler daring, or higher heroism than David 
Crockett’s. 

In the relations of husband, father, friend and 
citizen, he was faithful, just, constant and patriotic. 
As a politician he was the incarnation of honesty,— 
unbought, incorruptible, and above all price. If 
a distinguished man who saw him for the first time, 
would press his way through a great throng of ad¬ 
miring people who surrounded him, and grasp his 
sun-browned, tawny hand with the exclamation: 
4 4 Give me the hand of an honest man, ” how far might 
one not go in these degenerate days to shake the 
hand of an absolutely honest politician? 

Crockett was not only honest, upright and 
prolific in deeds of daring, but he was also gifted 
with mental faculties of a very high order. He 
was unique and original in all things. His wit was 
as bright and keen as a Persian cimiter, and as 
new and fresh and genial as the sunshine of a spring 
morning. Many of the best and most characteristic 
specimens of American humor can be found in the 
life of Crockett. Many of his sayings have become 


ADDRESSES. 


147 


proverbial,—have grown to be Americanisms. No 
maxim of Aristotle, Socrates, Bacon or Franklin 
has been quoted half so often, in this country, as 
that high device of David Crockett, u Be sure you 
are right, then go ahead.” The old and the young, 
the great and the small, alike pause to admire its 
truthful and ingenious blending of justice, courage 
and high resolve. When one recalls the career of 
this man, and reflects upon his achievements and 
successes, without even the rudiments of an educa¬ 
tion, he is almost ready to exclaim with Bob In- 
gersoll, that “ Colleges are places where bricks are 
polished, and diamonds dimmed.” 

Again, how popular has been the life of 
Crockett, with all our people, especially the young ! 
Few, if any, American biographies, have been so 
extensively sold, or so widely read. How pure 
and spotless his domestic life ! How far he was 
removed from the vices and debaucheries of fash¬ 
ionable or city life ! How innocent and manly his 
Western sports and pastimes! Flow the young 
heart thrills at the recital of his adventures in the 
deep-tangled forests, his inimitable bear-hunts, his 
tiring Christmas guns, and his feats with the rifle! 
Indeed, the whole book is replete with a vein of 
philosophy and good sense, a flowing humor, an 
innocent, healthy, home-bred, Western air, rarely 
to be found in books of the kind. 

But, at last, in an unequal and unsuccessful, 
yet gallant contest for a third seat in the national 
congress, against the Federal administration, and 
the iron man at its head, against executive patron¬ 
age, money, popular passion and ignorance, came 
the crowning act in the drama of his life, the climax 
of his devotion to the cause of liberty, which resulted 
in his glorious death, Failing in his crusade against 


148 


ADDRESSES. 


what he thought political heresies and official 
corruption in his own land; cast down, defeated, 
disinherited politically for the time, his warlike 
spirit turned instinctively to struggling Texas, and 
he generously threw himself into the breach, where 
freedom was the stake, and slavery and humiliation 
the forfeit. Like Ivanhoe at the tourney of Ashby, 
the patriots were outnumbered, bleeding and pressed 
to the direst extremity. 

He left his quiet home on the banks of the 
mighty river, and armed and mounted on a fine 
and powerful horse, he set out on the long, lonely 
journey, to the seat of hostilities. What a stern 
joy must have filled his soul as he traversed the 
dismal swamps and boundless prairies, to strike for 
the oppressed, to shiver lances with the dark Tem¬ 
plars from the land of the Montezumas, led on by 
the far-famed Attila of the South, and carrying 
murder and carnage into the homes of his country¬ 
men ! Methinks I can hear his voice like a trumpet- 
call, ring across the southern prairies as he approaches 
the Texas fortress,—“Desdichado, to the rescue! ” 
Not Fitz-James, nor Rhoderick Dhu, nor the giant 
form of Richard Coeur de Lion, bore a more chiv¬ 
alrous soul. 

It is not surprising that Col. Crockett drew 
his sword in the cause of the Texans. His great 
heart yearned for the oppressed in every human 
struggle. He could not brook restraint or oppres¬ 
sion; he hated tyranny in every form and every 
where. Besides, he had been greatly respected and 
honored in the high councils of state in his own 
country. His eager ears had caught the long, loud 
plaudits of the multitude. The United States re¬ 
sounded with his fame. His name was already 
widely spoken of in connection with the Whig 


ADDRESSES. 


149 


candidacy for president. But he was now defeated 
and cast down, as he thought, by the arbitrary and 
unscrupulous hand of power and patronage. Bor- 
rowingfrom Othello, he aptly exclaimed, “Crockett’s 
occupation’s gone.” 

It was not for a spirit like his to yield and 
drivel into slothfulness and inactivity. This cham¬ 
pion, unhorsed for the first time, and that, too, as 
he believed, in an unfair field and by a foul sweep 
of the lance, at once vaulted to the saddle, uncon¬ 
quered and unconquerable, to dare all comers. 
Those “piping times of peace” had no charms for 
him. So with a sad 

•• Farewell to my country, I’ve fought for thee well, 

When the savage rushed forth like the demons from hell. 

In peace or in war, I have stood by thy side,— 

My country, for thee l have lived —would have died,” 

he turned from his home and his loved ones—the 
scenes of his formerhappiness — and cast his fortunes 
with the struggling Lone Star .Republic. 

But alas! what cause, what valor can stand 
against overwhelming numbers, and murderous, 
brutal force? The swarming thousands of the 
oppressor’s minions closed like a cordon around the 
beleaguered Texan band. Long and bloody was the 
unequal strife, and scores of the enemy bit the 
dust before the unerring aim of Crockett’s rifle. 
And when, at last, the defenses were carried by 
assault, on the morning of the 6th of March, 1836, 
and the struggle to the death began, Crockett’s 
voice, above the din of arms, shouted defiance to 
the foe, and cheered his comrades to the onset. 
Wherever the fight raged thickest, there was to be 
seen the tall and warlike form of Crockett, dealing 
death at every blow. When the slaughter had 


150 


ADDRESSES. 


ceased, and the smoke had cleared away, and not a 
Texan was left to tell the deeds of Spartan valor 
done, Col. Crockett’s dead body was found in a 
niche of the fortress, still grasping in one, now 
nerveless hand, the bent barrel of his shattered 
rifle, in the other his huge and bloody knife, and 
Rurrounded by a score of dead Mexicans. Grand 
old hero ! Glorious death ! 

“ Like some tall giant on the field of blood. 

Undaunted ’mid the gallant slain he stood. 

He knew no fear; ’mid danger’s darkening storm, 

He boldly, proudly reared his warrior form. 

His cause — the cause of freedom and the free — 

His glorious watchword — Death or Liberty 1” 

What lias Texas done for those who periled 
their lives that she might be free? Much for those 
who survived the struggle, and something for the 
memory of the many who perished in it. She 
made some of the survivors her presidents; she sent 
some to the United States senate, and several to 
the house of congress; she gave her chief cities the 
names of others; and she generously provided for 
the “ child of the Alamo.” There doubtless is, 
and must ever be, in the Texan heart, a deep and 
abiding veneration for the memory of Crockett; but 
where is the tangible, extrinsic evidence of it? I 
beg to suggest to that brave and grateful people, 
the erection of a monument to David Crockett. 
Let it stand on the spot where he fell, and where 
his ashes rest. Let it be laid out on a scale com¬ 
mensurate with the spirit of him whose name and 
fame it is intended to perpetuate. Let it be broad 
and high as was his courage and love of liberty. 
Let its lofty top be kissed by the first beams of the 
morning sun, and let his mellow, farewell glories, 
at eventide, rest upon its towering summit. Let 


ADDRESSES. 


151 


its polished shaft hand down to future generations 
the blazonry of his deeds — the breath of his spot 
less fame. Let the Texan youth, the visitors from 
sister states, the foreigner, stand on the hill, the 
spot of the Alamo, the Thermopylae of modern 
times, gaze up at the graceful column, and read 
that it marks the place where Crockett and Travis 
and Bonham and Bowie died. Prepare that conse¬ 
crated hill to be, what it must eventually be, the 
Mecca of Texan patriotism. There was Texan 
independence born. Her spirit of liberty, full- 
fledged, careering and resistless, plioenix-like, arose 
from those ashes ! The Mexican tyrant, the self- 
styled second Napoleon, with his murderous hosts 
of myrmidons and felons, suddenly fell on the 
Texan frontier like a destroying angel. Her people 
were reposing in fancied security, when the thunder 
of the guns at the Alamo awoke them to their 
danger and aroused them to arms. That dauntless 
band of one hundred and fifty threw themselves 
between the invader and his victims, checked his 
advance, killed a thousand of his hireling host, 
and poured out their life-blood as a rich libation 
that Texas might be free. 

The name and fame of David Crockett do not 
belong # to Texas alone. His virtues and his memory 
are a part of the heritage of the whole people of the 
United States. Tennessee will come like a fond 
mother and bedew with her tears the soil that drank 
his noble blood. Kentucky, her sister, will wreathe 
a chaplet to garland his tomb. The North, the 
sunny South, the people of every state, will gener¬ 
ously vie with each other in a laudable effort to 
perpetuate his fame. 


152 


ADDRESSES. 


ADDRESS OF WELCOME. 


DELIVERED AT A REUNION, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 

1887. 

Ladies and Gentlemen: 

I am delegated by the committee in charge of 
this great re-union, and by the generous people of 
this vicinity, to bid you all a cordial and heart-warm 
welcome to these ceremonies, to this place and this 
occasion. If there be a spot in all Kentucky famed 
far and wide for its unbounded hospitality, and for 
the generosity and magnamity of its people, these 
hills and these valleys make up that spot. 

I utter no undeserved panegyric, but only the 
plain truth,when I say that Indian Creek is but the 
synonym of all that is manly, womanly, generous 
and hospitable. Did you ever think of and realize 
the fact that Kentuckians are the cleverest people 
in the world? Other states and other sections used 
to vie with Kentucky for this distinction, but all 
in vain. The last competitor has long since fled 
the field; and go where you will throughout the 
union, or the wide world over, and “Kentncky hos¬ 
pitality” is on every lip, and is proverbial every¬ 
where. 

Oh! well, but pardon me! Here is our be¬ 
loved, dark-eyed sister, Tennessee, radiant in her 
graces, a gem, a jewel, a very diamond in the coro- 



ADDRESSES. 


153 


net of states! I do not mean that she is not clever. 
She is almost peerless in her hospitality, in the 
beauty of her queenly daughters, and the chivalry 
and intellectuality of her noble sons. We feel that 
she is a part of us — that Kentucky and Tennessee 
are one — and that the unseemly and unnatural line 
which separates us ought to be blotted out forever. 

The surviving soldiers of the 9th, the 5th, the 
37th, and the 52nd Kentucky Federal regiments, 
come to-day, and with pride in the past, with high 
hope for the future,with charity to all and malice 
toward none, bearing aloft the olive branch of 
peace, but not the spear of war — they come to wel¬ 
come the soldiers of every army, and the citizens 
of every section to these festivities, to bury all hate, 
all sectionalism, and to renew and rebind the ties 
of a sincere fellowship and a common brotherhood, 
in these glorious years of peace that follow the 
glorious restoration of the union of these states. 
Welcome, welcome ! thrice welcome, every one ! 

Let no heart be sad to-day. On with the cor¬ 
dial greeting, on with the social jest, on with the 
tale of the lonely camp, the midnight vigil, the fear¬ 
ful charge. Let the deeds of lofty courage done by 
comrades dead and living, on many a glorious field 
of fight, live to-day in grateful memory; recall them 
here in reminiscence and in story; but above all 
and over all, let this day show forth the truth that 
the war is ended, its hates are dead, and that one 
common bond of peace and union reunites us all. 

Soldiers of every army, the great civil war in 
which you were actors was not without its solemn 
and mighty lessons. It taught you and all the 
country, and every people on the globe, that, the 
great and grand device, “E Pluribus Unum,” is a 
truth and must endure forever. It brought us the 


154 


ADDRESSES. 


rich lesson that this union of the many and the 
mighty states of the western hemisphere—this sister¬ 
hood of states bound together for the common weal, 
the common defense, and the common glory—is, 
and must be, as perpetual as the rock-ribbed and 
everlasting hills. 

That war taught this country and the world the 
prowess and invincibility of American arms. When 
you of the Federal, or you of the Confederate army, 
with flashing plumes and flying banners and martial 
music, bore down to the fierce assault in the war- 
darkened years, you found Americans to graple 
you. There Greek met Greek, indeed, and there 
was “the tug of war.” None of you, on either side, 
was ever deprived of 

»»The stern joy that warriors feel 
In foemen worthy of their steel.” 

The war taught this country and all the world, 
that even fighting against each other by the mil¬ 
lions, and for four long years, this great republic, 
the dream of immortal Plato, could not be harmed 
or stricken down, or hindered in its God-given mis¬ 
sion of enlightening and blessing the human race 
to the latest hour of time. 

It taught the lesson that fighting with each 
other, and for a common cause and common coun¬ 
try, as you would fight today, and as you will ever 
fight, if fight you must, in the future, you may 
flaunt your starry flag in the faces of a combined 
world of tyrants, and dare and defy them to touch 
the hem of your garments. United as we are to¬ 
day, and as we shall ever be, no foreign foe can 
ever desecrate one inch of our soil. 

I do not love war, nor do you, if it can be 
honorably avoided. But just let a foreign foe in- 


ADDRESSES. 


155 


suit us; let the Monroe doctrine be violated; let our 
right to fish in so-called Canadian waters be unjust¬ 
ly and arrogantly disputed by Great Britain, that 
national highwayman, that bully and buccaneer of 
the ocean; let our ships be ruthlessly searched on 
the high seas, and it will be a glorious sight to see 
the old veterans of the North and the South, all 
under one flag, all wearing one uniform, standing 
shoulder to shoulder and foot by foot, compact 
as a Spartan phalanx and terrible as a Roman 
legion, bear down on the hireling ranks of the 
common enemy and sweep them from the face of 
the earth as the autumn whirlwind sweeps the dead 
leaves of the forest. And so will it be when the 
test comes. 

Americans can fight well, and well can Amer¬ 
icans forgive and forget. In exemplification of 
this sentiment, let the soldiers of each army and 
the partisans of each cause, as they here to-day re¬ 
new the ties of a once broken friendship, give one 
tender thought, one tearful memory to the heroes 
that fell in the struggle. 

*• No more shall the war-cry sever. 

Nor the winding- rivers be red; 

They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead. 

Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgement day, 

Love and tears for the blue, 

Tears and love for the gray, ” 

But the battle flags are furled; the swords are 
rusting in their scabbards; the pageant of arms is 
no more; the mighty naval squadrons that swept 
the seas have gone to rest on the coral reefs, or 
they rot and waste away in the harbors; and you, 
soldiers, rest well in this great calm of peace, after 
your years of toil and danger for your country. You 


156 


ADDRESSES, 


have won, and well do you deserve imperishable re¬ 
nown. 


** Volunteer soldiers! America’s pride. 

Proved in the furnace, in war’s travails tried; 

Hail aud Salute! ’tis a world offers praise. 

And peace pipes with plenty to brighten your days. ” 








addresses. 


157 


WASHINGTON. 


ADDRESS DELIVERED AT TOMPKINSVILLE, KY., FEB. 22, 

1890. 

Ladies and Gentlemen: 

We are assembled to commemorate the birth 
of Washington, the father of his country. One 
hundred and fifty-eight years ago to-day, in West¬ 
moreland county, Virginia, not six hundred miles 
from this spot, was born the greatest man of this 
country, if not of all time. Every country has its 
heroic period, and each country, in its hour of peril, 
has found its man to rise to the full height and 
measure of the critical moment, and by great qual¬ 
ities distinguish himself, and shed luster upon his 
country and his time. Israel had its Moses and its 
Joshua; Greece, its Leonidas; Rome, its Cincinnat.us; 
Russia, its Peter the Great; Germany, its Frederick; 
Scotland, its Bruce; France, its Napoleon; Switzer¬ 
land, its Tell; England, its Hampden, and this 
country its immortal Washington. 

It would seem that in the determinate counsel 
of the Ruler of the universe it has been decreed 
that the right should never remain continually with¬ 
out a champion and a victor. The arm of power, 
mailed and bucklered, may spurn justice, and injure 
and oppress the weak for a season; tyrany, confi¬ 
dent, arrogant and brutal, may stalk abroad for a 



158 


ADDRESSES. 


while; but hi the divine order of things the time 
will soon come when some heroic spirit will rise up, 
and moving undaunted amid the storm, will vindi¬ 
cate the right, will break the oppressor’s yoke, and 
rescue the imperiled liberties of his people, or give 
to his country a name and a place among the na¬ 
tions of the earth. 

“Truth crushed to earth will rise again. 

The eternal years of God are hers. ” 

Nearly four hundred years ago this new world 
was discovered by Columbus, the daring traveler of 
the seas. Occasional but fruitless efforts were made, 
for two hundred years, to colonize it by European 
powers. At last, about two hundred years ago, the 
settlements began to take root and flourish; and 
then, after a growth of one hundred years, there 
were thirteen weak colonies scattered along the At¬ 
lantic coast, and comprising only three millions of 
people. They were British subiects, and gave al¬ 
legiance to the British crown. But as they grew 
and prospered, the mother country, instead of being 
their guardian and protector, became their oppress¬ 
or, and put upon the people of these colonies such 
burdens as freemen could not,would not bear, and 
yet they were refused representation. They were 
denied equality with other British subjects, and 
were required to obey the behests of vice-gerents 
and governors appointed and sent over by the 
British crown. 

The discussion that arose upon the questions 
involved between this country and Great Britain 
brought to the front the best intellect, statesman¬ 
ship and patriotism of our people. Such men as 
Hamilton and Madison and Jefferson and Adams 
and Dickinson and Franklin arose upon the scene, 
sipd with a power of logic, an elegance of diction. 


ADDRESSES. 


159 


and a fervor for patriotism that were never equalied 
before or since, met and vanished the giants of the 
mother-land in a war of written words, and the 
civilized world applauded to the echo. In the Caro- 
linas and the South, Charles Pinckney, with splendid 
eloquence, aroused the people to a sense of their 
duties and dangers. In Massachusetts and the 
North, Warren, Otis and the Adamses, with that 
fervor born of their Puritan blood, and with resist¬ 
less oratory, kindled the fires of resistence, and 
fanned them into a great flame. In Virginia and 
along the centre, Patrick Ilenry, the Demosthe¬ 
nes of the Devolution, gave the most powerful 
impulse to the cause of freedom. His eloquence 
was overwhelming, his zeal was consuming. He 
thundered in the Virginia House of Burgesses, and 
uttered for the first time that slogan of the Devolu¬ 
tion— “Give me Liberty or give me Death.” Ah ! 
it thrills the blood to hear it, till this good day. 

But when the struggle came, all eyes were 
turned toward Washington to lead the patriot 
armies. Not that he was a graduate of some mili¬ 
tary school; not that he had ever been a general; 
not that lie was the greatest scholar, or writer, or 
statesman of his time; but because he was, take him 
all in all, the purest, the loftiest, the completest, 
the best balanced, the best rounded man of his 
country. At the call of his country his sword 
leaped from its scabbard, and he stood up like a 
modern Atlas and took on his shoulders the full 
weight and burden of the American Devolution. 
The feeble colonies, without money, without re¬ 
sources, without complete organization, dared to 
stake all on the effort to be free, and trusted all to 
the guidance ot Washington, 


160 


ADDESSES. 


Go with him in fancy through the seven dark 
and fearful years of the war; behold him at Yalley 
Forge, amid the rigor of a northern winter, with 
his little band of starving soldiers —without shelter, 
without food, without clothing; see the deep snow 
and the cold ice crimsoned with the blood from 
their unshod feet; watch the great Washington as 
he goes daily to his devotions, to pray the Dispen¬ 
ser of all human events, for His blessings on his 
army and his country in this hour of greatest peril 
and sorest affliction; follow him to Monmouth and 
Brandywine and Trenton and Yorktown, and you 
behold the grandest historic figure in American 
annals. 

But when, at last, by the help of LaFayette 
and the friendly intervention of the French govern¬ 
ment, the royal armies were routed, and peace, 
dove-like and beautiful, spread her white wings 
over the land, a loud, long shout of joy went up 
from all the people. On the mountains and in the 
valleys, bonfires and illuminations attested the great 
victory, the universal joy. The name and the 
achievements of Washington were on every lip. In 
dignity of bearing, in spotless integrity, in exalted 
character, in the esteem and gratitude of his coun¬ 
trymen, Washington stood far above any man of 
his time. There is no question but that a crown 
was immediately within his grasp. He could but 
have stretched forth his hand and taken it. But 
he was incorruptible and far above such temptation. 
He assembled his generals and his army, and amid 
the tears of officers and men, he bade them all an 
affectionate farewell, resigned his commission, and 
went to his home beside the classic river of the 
South. 

Called to the first presidency of the new re- 


ADDRESSES. 


161 


public, and called again to the second term, he 
displayed a statesmanship and knowledge of affairs 
that has not been surpassed if it has ever been 
equalled since. Absolutely refusing a third term, 
he wrote a farewell address to his countrymen, 
which for wisdom and patriotism stands the very 
first of American political papers. Thus finishing 
his well-rounded and glorious career, he retired to 
Mt. Vernon where he spent the remainder of his 
life in the delightful pursuits of agriculture, among 
his flocks and fields, gardens and. orchards. In his 
splendid eulogy on Washington, Richard Henry 
Lee said he was “First in peace, first in war, and 
first in the hearts of his countrymen.” Edward 
Everett said of him that “lie was the best of wise 
men, and the wisest of good men.” 

The fame of such a man belongs not to one 
country or age alone. There is not a civilized 
people on the globe but whose children read of 
Washington, the father and founder of the great 
American Republic. Wherever on earth the story 
of our expansive liberties, our marvelous growth, 
our boundless happiness has gone, there the achieve¬ 
ments and the example of Washington are watch¬ 
words in every house and every home. 

“Immortal Washington! to tliee we pour, 

A grateful tribute to thy natal hour. 

Who strike the lyre to liberty, and twine 
Wreaths for her triumphs — for they all are thine. 

Wooed by thy virtues to the haunts of men. 

From mountain precipice and rugged glen. 

She bade thee vindicate the rights of man, 

And in her march ’twas thine to lead the van.” 

Come let us then, on this anniversary of our 
greatest countrymen, renew our vows of devotion 
to the Constitution and the Union. Amid these 
patriotic memories, these touching strains of inspir- 


162 


ADDRESSES. 


ing music, in the hey-day of our greatness and 
grandeur —let us here and now, beneath the love¬ 
liest flag that ever enriched the sky, reconsecrate 
ourselves to the love of liberty and the love of 
country. 

** Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 

Who never to himself hath said. 

This is my own, my native land.” 



ADDRESSES. 


163 


ADDRESS. 


DELIVERED AT A SOLDIERS’ RE-UNION AT TOMPKINSVILLE, 

KY., SEPT. 18th, 1889. 

Ex-Soldiers, Ladies and Gentlemen: 

The occasion on which you are assembled is a 
patriotic one. This great re-union is full of patri¬ 
otic impulses and patriotic memories. It serves to 
keep vividly in mind the restoration of the Ameri¬ 
can Union, at a time when our sky was overcast 
with the darkest clouds, and when gloom and fear 
filled all the land. It serves, also, to commemorate 
the gallant deeds and the great sacrifices of the 
brave men, living and dead, who with Roman 
courage marched down to the red front of battle in 
the darkest period of our history, and taking up the 
dear old banner as it trailed in the dust, planted it 
in the valleys, on the hills and on the mountain- 
tops, where it waves to-day and shall wave forever. 

This occasion is intended also to give the toil- 
worn veterans of the late war, who still live, an 
opportunity to meet and greet each other another 
time this side of the mystic river, to renew the dear 
old friendships of the long ago, and to recount the 
tales of the lonely camp, the hurried march, and the 
fearful charge, “When the battle’s red glare” 
painted its fearful pictures on the dim skies above. 



164 


ADDRESSES. 


It is meant to imbue the younger people —the 
youth of the land — with that love of country that 
actuated you, soldiers, nearly a generation ago, 
when you left home and kindred at the drum-tap 
which announced your country’s danger, and 
inarched like Spartans down to the rescue. 

If anything were needed to give assurance of 
the high appreciation which all the people have of 
this re-union; if any one should ask for a guarantee 
of perfect peace and order and decorum here to¬ 
day, I could point to that vast array of matronly 
grace, of maiden beauty, of girlish brightness as an 
indubitable evidence that all is well, and all will be 
well. The mothers and the daughters and the child¬ 
ren lia^e come from far and near to pay their tribute 
of affection and gratitude to the heroic men who 
preserved to them and their children forever the 
rich heritage of the Constitution and the Union. 

xiil civilized nations, and even the savage 
tribes, have their festivals, their holidays and their 
annual gatherings, in honor of some great event. 
The Jews celebrated yearly their passage through 
the Red Sea. The Romans celebrated their victo¬ 
ries and honored their deities by great gatherings 
and festivals. The sturdy Scotchmen meet on the 
field of Bannockburn to renew their love of country 
and honor the memory of Robert Bruce. The 
French shout paeans in praise of their new Republic; 
and well may we assemble to commemorate the 
deeds of daring done in the late unhappy war, and 
rejoice in the perpetuity of the American Union. 

The war for the Union was in many respects, 
if not in every respect, the greatest war of all time. 
There were more men engaged than was ever en¬ 
gaged in any war before; it cost more than any 
other war ever cost; Gettysburg was the greatest 


ADDRESSES. 


165 


battle of all time; the glories of Marathon and 
Orleans and Hastings and Sebastopol pale before 
the splendors of Vicksburg and Shiloh and Stone 
River. The surrender of Appomattox vouchsafed 
greater and grander things to the future of this 
country, and to civilization in the ages to come, 
than any other surrender on the face of the globe 
we inhabit. 

It settled and confirmed forever the experiment 
of self government by the people. Two hundred 
years ago the governments of earth were a series 
of monarchies, oligarchies and despotisms. There 
was not beneath the sun a republic or democracy 
worth the name. The Bible was not free. Men 
could not worship God according to His will as they 
understood it to be; and the Catholic Inquisition, 
red with blood, aflame with hate of religious free¬ 
dom, spread its baleful influence over nearly all of 
Europe. Rank oppression drove men everywhere 
to slavish obedience to the behests of tyrants, or it 
drove them to the gibbet or the stake. 

But there were even then some sturdy and 
heroic types and races of men and women who 
refused to be slaves, and would not “bow the knee 
to Baal.” The Lutherian Reformers of Germany, 
the Huguenots of France, and the Puritans of En¬ 
gland fled from oppression to this new world; and 
amid the dreary wilderness, among savage beasts 
and savage men, laid the foundations of free gov¬ 
ernment and religious liberty. But British oppres¬ 
sion followed them across the vast and stormy 
deep, and it took the seven awful years of the Revo¬ 
lution to convince Great Britain and the world that 
this part of the Anglo-Saxon race was determined 
to be free. 

Released from British control, freed from alle- 


166 


ADDRESSES. 


giance to any power on earth, free as the winds 
that sweep the lands and the seas, our Revolution¬ 
ary fathers determined to keep their liberties, to 
retain them within themselves, and to transmit them 
as a legacy to their children forever. They rejected 
and set at naught the idea of kings, vice-gerents 
and potentates. Soon after the Revolution, and 
more than one hundred years ago, the people of 
this country formed, a Union and ordained and 
established a Constitution which expressly provides 
that all power is inherent in the people. 

The form of government thus made was Repub¬ 
lican. It seems to have been a new inspiration in the 
science of government. The history of the world 
furnished nothing like it. All history, all philoso¬ 
phy had declared that men could not govern them¬ 
selves, but our fathers—bold men, true men that 
they were — dared to put it to the test, and they 
staked all they were, all they hoped to be, on the 
experiment of self-government, in which the people 
are the sovereigns, and the officers the servants of 
the people. 

It would seem that from the first the choicest 
blessings of Heaven descended without stint or limit 
on this blessed country of ours. Here the rights of 
life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness were se¬ 
cure, and to this favored land came the liberty-loving 
people from every part of the globe, like pilgrims 
to their shrine, until this has grown to be the great¬ 
est and mightiest of the nations. 

But in its hundred years of growth and devel¬ 
opment our country has had its share of severe 
ordeals and terrible calamities. In 1812 the British 
came to our shores and sought again to conquer 
and humiliate our people. They burned our capital, 
swept our cities on the southern coast with shot and 


ADDRESSES. 


1G7 


shell, till Jackson at New Orleans and Harrison 
along the Northern lakes, shattered their armies 
and sent them home in defeat. It was chiefly 
Kentuckians and Tennesseeans that achieved victory 
for Jackson at New Orleans, and it was Kentuck¬ 
ians and Tennesseeans that, under the leadership 
of the elder Harrison, swept the savage foemen 
from the bloody fields of Tippecanoe and the River 
Raisin. 

Again in 1846 the dark-eyed templars from 
the land of the Montezumas invaded our territory 
and laid waste our settlements along the Rio Grande. 
Then again the trusty clansmen, Kentucky and Ten¬ 
nessee, sprang to the rescue, and on every field from 
Matamoras to the Capital City, their gleaming blades 
and arms of steel dealt death to the cruel foe. 

But last of all and saddest of all, in 1861, the 
vexed problems of state maddened and divided our 
once happy people. The political sky grew dark; 
the cloud-born squadrons of the tempest, gathering 
and thickening, thundering and threatening, rolled 
up to the zenith, and nearly shutout the sunlight of 
hope; fear and dread filled all the land; star after 
star was torn from the cluster of stars; the old ban¬ 
ner seemed furled and drooping to the ground; not 
a breeze from the far south lifted its folds and 
waved them aloft as an omen of hope. But in this 
darkest period of our country’s history, Abraham 
Lincoln said, u The authority of the constitution 
and the laws must be preserved over every foot of 
territory belonging to the United States.” His 
proclamation called for volunteers to maintain that 
authority. You, soldiers, responded to the call. 
You went, and you came not back again until you 
put the last star in the flag back in its proper place — 
till every stripe was re-adjusted, and until high 


168 


ADDRESSES. 


above the highest hills in every state from the lakes 
to the gulf, the glories of the earliest sunbeams 
flooded the old banner with streakings of the morn¬ 
ing light. Through Tennessee and Alabama, 
through Georgia and the Carolinas you followed 
the tossing plumes of Grant and Sherman, Kil¬ 
patrick and Thomas, until Appomattox sealed the 
victory for the Union. 

But I tax you too long, and I beg yc nr pardon 
for only a few more words. I think this a great 
re-union — great for its patriotic influences, great 
for the memory it endears, great for the pleasure it 
gives the old soldiers and their children, relatives 
and friends in mixing and mingling together once 
more, and great in the abundance and freedom of 
the social intercourse it affords all the people. 

I even go so far as to think you were more 
than fortunate in the place you selected for holding 
it, and I will tell you why. I think the United 
States the greatest Nation in the world; I think that 
in this great Nation, Kentucky is the heart and the 
centre, and the greatest State; I think that Monroe 
is the greatest and cleverest county in this great 
State; I think Tompkinsville is the greatest and 
most progressive city in the great county of Monroe; 
and I think this is the shadiest and loveliest grove 
within ten miles of that great and growing city. 
In short, I think we are assembled just about in 
the centre of the universe to-day. Borrowing the 
language of a western orator, I might exclaim: ‘‘See 
how the sky shuts down at an equal distance all 
around us!” 

Again let me say I have reason to be proud of 
this great audience. For love of country, for in¬ 
telligence and refinement, for social impulses and 
capacities, the world cannot excel it. And now as 


ADDRESSES. 


1G9 


I gaze up these long aisles in front, and behold the 
myriad of bright eyes and lovely faces, the wealth 
of raven tresses and the curls of gold, I think to 
myself if there be in all this vast assembly an un¬ 
married young man of good sense and good taste, 
who knows what is best for him, he will surely make 
the most of this great opportunity. And then I 
do think if there be on these grounds a single, dreary, 
lonesome old bachelor, who has plodded on this far 
in life’s journey by his lone self, with 

“ No one to love him, none to caress,” 

who feels that in trying to get through the world 
alone he has nearly sinned away his day of matri¬ 
monial grace, — if there be such a one who is tired 
and weary with sewing on his own buttons and 
sweeping the hearth alone, I hope he will take 
courage, and while the band renders ‘‘The Girl I 
Left Behind Me,” or some other appropriate air, I 
hope he will traverse these aisles and begin to make 
himself as agreeable as possible. It he will, I 
know he will be blest and rewarded; and long be 
fore the next re-union he will begin to bless the 
day that found him at the great re-union at Tomp- 
kinsville. 


170 


ADDRESSES. 


SPECULATIVE MASONRY. 


AN ADDRESS DELIVERED AT A PUBLIC INSTALLATION OF 
OFFICERS OF TOMPKINSVILLE LODGE, NO. 321. 

My Brethren and Friends: 

History and tradition fix the origin of our an¬ 
cient and honorable Order away back in the prynal 
ages, when man, fresh from the radiant Eden, walked 
in closer proximity to his God, and was subject to 
theocratic government. It shines out in divine his¬ 
toric splendor from the Jewish Patriarchy, and its 
mystic rites even foreshadowed the heaven-born 
philosophy, the tragic death and the glorious resur¬ 
rection of the world’s Redeemer. Its origin among 
men was in the first throe of sorrow for sin, the first 
prayer of repentance, and the first hope of pardon 
for transgression. Its early records may be traced to 
the ottering brought by Abel to the Lord,to Enoch's 
walk with God, and to the altar erected by Noah 
to the Creator of the worlds. 

At the building of the Holy Temple, King 
Solomon remodeled and perfected it with his plastic 
touch, and breathed upon it the breath of his in¬ 
spired wisdom. Since then, at least, its landmarks 
are distinct and well defined. As the building of 
the Temple formed a new era in architecture and 
Operative Masonry, so also was that occasion to 



Addresses. 


171 


give a fresh impetus and a new departure to the 
universe of mind and morals. In the construction 
of that Temple our Ancient Grand Master followed 
after a superb ideal that was beyond the finite con¬ 
ception. Its very design set at naught all former 
rules of architectural art, and stood forth in a sub¬ 
lime magnificence that astonished and delighted 
every beholder. The Wisdom that designed, the 
Strength that reared, and the Beauty that adorned 
that physical Temple did also reconstruct, build up 
and embellish this Ancient Craft of ours. As the 
Temple erected by Solomon was the perfection of 
Operative Masonry, so is our Speculative Temple 
the perfection of Morality, embracing and teaching 
the whole duty of man. 

Committed to pure minds and faithful hearts, 
the spirit and genius of Masonry spread from 
Jerusalem to every civilized people on the globe. 
Within its charmed circle the wise and good of all 
nations assembled. It went forth living and to 
live, conquering and to conquer. Its gentle rays 
of light trembled through the gloom of Egyptian 
darkness, and its golden precepts humanized and 
polished pagan Greece and Borne. Its Eastern 
Star, guided the pilgrim feet of the Magi to the 
cradle of the infant Bedeemer. It irradiated the 
night of the Middle Ages, and through a rift of the 
black billows that shut out civilization from the 
world, its immortal Light kept streaming. 

Speculative Masonry is a complete system of 
morals, based upon the moral law as drawn from 
the volume of Inspiration. While it does not claim 
to be an institution of religion, it is certainly a 
religious institution. Its very mission is to glorify 
God, and increase human happiness according to 
His divine will. The whole fabric rests upon the 


172 


ADDRESSES. 


Bible as thfc inestimable gift of God to man. Its 
object is to learn and love and teach and practice 
the highest moral and social virtues. It is the 
mystic fountain where beauty regained her faded 
form, knowledge rekindled her morning light, and 
injured innocence found sympathy and protection. 
It is the haven of endangered virtue and fidelity, 
the asylum of the distressed, the home of the orphan. 
It is freedom from physical and mental bondage, 
and the quintessence of moral, social andintellectual 
liberty. Its measure is divine, its spirit is love, its 
Shiboleth is “charity to all.” No man, by becom¬ 
ing a Mason, loses any part of his liberty of con¬ 
science or freedom of opinion. He is trammelled 
by no obligation, restricted by no penalties, in the 
performance of his public or private duties. It does 
not hinder or embarrass him in the discharge of 
any public trust, nor does it unlit him for any hon¬ 
orable office. It in no way hampers or directs, or 
questions the religious or political creed or opinions 
of any man. In all these important concerns a 
Mason is left to the suggestions and guidance of 
his own judgement and conscience. 

No other institution can boast of such far 
reaching universality as this of ours. The sun may 
be said never to set on Masonry. It has diffused 
itself around the great globe; it has spread from 
continent to continent, isle to isle; and as a pillar 
of fire, its effulgent light has moved in the van of 
civilization. Even uncivilized tribes and nations of 
men have caught glimpses of its Oriental Light, 
embraced its noble tenets, and drunk deep at its 
crystal fountain. Its symbolic language is univer¬ 
sal. At home or abroad, on land or sea, affluent 
or indigent, distressed or happy, in darkness or in 
light, we, as Masons, are cheered and encouraged 


ADDRESSES. 


173 


by the consciousness that a brother knows his 
brother. As Masons, we can converse and com¬ 
municate with the subject of any nationality, the 
child of any creed, the citizen of any clime. Whether 
we go among the frugal Dutch, or polished French, 
or dignified English, or sullen Turks, or tawny 
Ottomen, we are sure to find a brother good, true 
and tried. Whether we tread on torrid sands or 
wade through polar snows, we know and realize 
that the spirit of our noble Order has gone before 
us, making thousands of brothers and friends. 

Those who have studied the genius and phil¬ 
osophy of Masonry will unite with me in the 
assertion that it cannot be the offspring of the finite 
mind. Our Ancient Grand Master, King Solomon, 
was confessedly the wisest of men. To him sources 
of knowledge were opened up which have ever been 
hidden from the rest of mortal men. The corrusca- 
tions that flashed upon his wondrous intellect were 
sparks from the Invisible Source. In rearing this 
Speculative Temple of ours, he blent materials from 
earth and heaven, and while its foundations rest on 
earth, its Doric columns and rainbow arches stretch 
away through clouds and sunshine to the climes of 
the blest. Its sublime philosophy tends to separate 
the divine element of our nature from the passions 
and frailties and sins of our fallen state. 

As the true Mason mounts the first round of 
the symbolic ladder he is taught the cardinal vir¬ 
tues—Temperance, Fortitude, Prudence and Justice. 
What a model man must he be who temperately and 
wisely restrains his affections, passions and appeti- 
ties; who cultivates that noble and steady purpose 
of mind which walks boldly in the path of duty, 
and turns aside from no peril or danger; who regu¬ 
lates his life and actions agreeably to the dictates 


174 


ADDRESSES. 


of reason, judging wisely,and determining prudently 
upon all things relative to liis present and future 
welfare; and who circumscribes his conduct by that 
heaven-drawn boundary of right, which ennableshim 
to claim nothing but his own, and to render unto 
every one his due without distinction. 

Here we learn to appreciate and practice those 
principal tenets of our profession — Brotherly Love, 
Belief and Truth. How must it bless our race 
when all men come to regard the whole human 
species as one kindred family, created by one Divine 
Parent, and entitled to the mutual regard and pro¬ 
tection of each other ! Here we are taught that 
beautiful philanthropy which pities the unfortunate, 
soothes the unhappy, sympathizes with the distressed, 
and helps the needy. Here the rough ashlar of our 
imperfect nature is shaped and fashioned by moral 
and virtuous education, into the perfect ashlar, a fit 
component part of that “ building not made with 
hands.” 

Still ascending, we discover that Masonry is a 
progressive science, divided into various degrees, 
through which the honest enquirer advances steadily 
and regularly in the knowledge of its mysteries. It 
includes within its charmed area every virtue and 
every branch of polite learning; so that the worthy 
mediocre, the accomplished scholar, the ingenious 
artist, and the gifted connoisseur may, each and all, 
partake of its mysteries and enjoy its pleasures. 
Here we behold our ancient system, veiled in alle¬ 
gory and illustrated by symbols, displaying some 
of the finest flights of fancy, the rarest gifts of classic 
taste,and the profoundest results of philosophy and 
reason. We have Grammar to unfold the beauty 
and wealth of language; Music to cheer and sooth 
us, and Arithmetic and Geometry, through which 


ADDRESSES. 


175 


we become acquainted with the most difficult and 
abstruse problems. We have Logic to discover 
and elucidate the remotest truths, and Rhetoric to 
embellish them with every flower of fancy. From 
Tuscan pillars and Doric columns our vision wan 
ders heavenward, beholds myriads of revolving 
worlds, reaches the suns of other systems, and is 
finally lost in the star-gemmed bosom of the azure. 

Higher still, we learn new lessons of wisdom, 
new motives to virtue, and new rules of conduct. 
Brotherly love, in impressive fellowship, unites us 
with its golden chain; the All-seeing Eye watches 
over us, and we feel that angels will rejoice at our 
virtuous deeds. The world about us is abounding 
in usefulness, replete with energy, instinct with life, 
and crowned with glory and endless progressive 
development. Here the spirit of harmony glows 
beneath the touch of the chisel, and the bud and 
blossom ripen into ambrosial fruit. Through all 
the intricate net-work of causation, we behold the 
wisdom and harmony of law — the symmetry and 
beauty and perfection of design. 

Seated on the summit of Ancient Craft Mason¬ 
ry, we realize the striking and sublime morals of 
^ome of the grandest types and symbols; we look 
forward over new and broader fields of usefulness 
and labor; fresh-blown and fragrant flowers spring 
up around us; sparks of immortality gleam through 
the chaos of our fallen state; we grow in Love; we 
walk by Faith; the veil is rent, and eternal Hope 
gazes through the fissure upon the fruition of its 
highest and holiest aspirings. The Bible is the 
Mason’s guide of faith and practice. Rob Masonry 
of the Bible, and you take from it its vitality and 
its life. He who believes not in the Living God is 
not entitled to the honors and privileges of Masonry. 


176 


ADDRESSES. 


It would be like “casting pearls before swine” to 
unveil its hallowed mysteries to such a being. The 
beautiful flowers of our Order could never bloom 
and flourish in the wilderness of such a mind; nor 
could its rare virtues ever bear their fruits in the 
arid desert of such a heart. 

In point of morality ours excells every other 
institution, excepting only the Christian religion. 
Masonry leans upon that holy religion for support; 
inculcates its cardinal virtues; rests its faith upon 
its revealed truth; and it cherishes the Christian’s 
lively hope of a happy existence beyond the tomb 
and beyond the skies. All our charges, all our 
regulations, all our landmarks, assume as a basis 
that cannot be removed or dispensed with, a belief 
in God and a state of future rewards and punish¬ 
ments. They all inculcate the necessity of moral 
purity as a qualification for future happiness. Thus 
the Free and Accepted Mason, by a proper exercise 
of his reasoning faculties, may discover in the sci¬ 
ence a clear indication of the truth and beauty of 
his religion. He cannot carefully examine any of 
its spiritual doctrines without discovering that they 
correspond with those of Christianity, and that they 
point to the world’s Redeerher as an atonement for 
human transgression, and to his teaching as way- 
marks to the climes of the blest. 

The great lights of Christianity have enter¬ 
tained these views — among whom I might enumer¬ 
ate John the Baptist, John the Evangelist, Husse, 
Melancthon, Newton, Ashmole, Warren, Dodd, 
Preston, Anderson and many others eminent for 
their learning and piety. Such, I would tell the 
world, are the moral and religious tenets and obli¬ 
gations of Freemasonry — an institution unlimited 
in number, and diffused over every civilized country 


ADDRESSES. 


177 


of the globe. Hence it results that to be truly 
Masonic in the strict sense -of the term, is to be 
truly religious in motive and conduct. 

For thousands of years Masonry has linked 
the wise and great and good of all the earth to¬ 
gether in a mystic brotherhood. If it had no other 
vindication it might point exultantly to the long 
list of immortal names that shine out in its history 
like diamonds in a princely coronet. It can boast 
of its Solomon and its Hirams, of kings and proph¬ 
ets of the Jewish race, of Grecian and Roman 
philosophers and scholars, warriors and statesmen, 
poets and orators. Some if not all of the chosen 
apostles, the heralds of the cross, were Masons. 
Wolsey and Locke. Wren and Dalcho, Hutcheons 
and Franklin, Washington and Jackson, Clay and 
Johnson, blest it with their virtue, hallowed it with 
their genius, enriched it with their philosophy, or 
adorned it with their wisdom and patriotism. The 
wise and good of every kindred and every clime 
have turned to its ensign of “ Peace on earth and 
good will to men” with zeal as ardent, and affection 
as pure as that of Persia’s idol-worshippers, or 
Moslem at his pilgrim’s shrine. 

I come now to its golden charity—a theme 
dear to every truly Masonic heart. And I challenge 
any other institution beneath the cerulean of heaven 
to a comparison of notes with the Masonic Frater¬ 
nity on the score of charity. I mean not the charity 
which exists in words and theories, but I mean the 
charity of deeds. You will observe, my brother, 
the world will observe, that Masons make no parade 
about their acts of benevolence. They do not 
sound a trumpet before them; they scarcely let 
their right hand know what their left giveth; but 
steadily and surely their work goes on. They com- 


178 


ADDRESSES. 


fort the troubled, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, 
educate the poor. When the true Mason passes to 
that “bourn from whence no traveler returns,” he 
leaves behind him a monument that the storms of 
time can never destroy. He writes his name, by 
works of love and deeds of charity, on the hearts 
of those who know him, as legibly as the stars 
appear on the brow of the evening. 

The genuine Mason recognizes that none liveth 
for himself alone. God has written on the blossom 
that sweetens the downy air, on the breeze that 
cradles the drooping flowers, upon the stars, upon the 
sun, upon all the works of His hands—“Hone liveth 
to himself.” Among us, as Masons, the pole-star 
of charity beams over the barren earth. Dark days 
may embitter our lives—days during which we look 
yearningly into the far corners of the world for a 
gleam of comfort — when there is not a spark in 
the firmament nor a ray in the sunless sky; but 
higher than the leaden canopy, and bursting through 
the sullen gloom, is the beacon of Masonic Charity. 
A brother will see our cares, note our oppressions, 
hear our sighs and pity our tears. 

Freemasonry is an institution sui-generis. It 
is self-propelling, self-perpetuating. The attempts 
to ridicule and expose it, the shafts of envy and 
detraction pointed at it, have all fallen as harmless 
missiles at its base. Every effort to destroy it has 
produced a contrary effect to that intended by its 
enemies. The most vindictive and desperate as¬ 
saults have only enlarged the place of its tents, 
and stretched forth the curtains of its pavillion. It 
still pursues the even tenor of its way, and glories 
in the elevated and unsullied happiness of doing 
good. It cannot be crushed or annihilated, for it is 
stamped with the seal of immortality. Its benign 


ADDRESSES. 


179 


spirit felt the first wants of our woe stricken race, 
and soothed the first troubled groan that shocked 
the ear of nature. It has swept through fields of 
relentless persecution, and tears and blood and 
blackened ruins have marked its pathway. Royal 
denunciations, inquisitorial maledictions, political 
convulsions, foes within and enemies without, have 
attempted its destruction; yet, over all it has achieved 
an enduring victory, and to-day its snowy standard 
waves hopefully over the storms of passion, the 
couch of disease, and the haunts of woe. It has 
gazed serenely on the rise and the fall of empires, 
and chiseled its precepts on the thrones of departed 
kings and potentates. Its garnered strength has 
accumulated and rolled on with the ages, gathering 
and cementing the broken links in the chain of 
humanity. 

The great Temple of Solomon, that union of 
all that was wise in design, all that was cunning in 
workmanship, all that was picturesque and gorgeous 
in beauty, crumbled to dust thousands of years 
agone; the Colossus of Rhodes has been crushed by 
the earthquake's giant tread; the Labyrinth at 
Psalmetichus is a heap of shapeless ruins; the sul¬ 
len spider weaves his web in its marble halls, and 
the wild beast ranges through its deserted chambers 
and broken arches; the moth of time is eating and 
consuming the monstrous Pyramids themselves; 
Greece, the mother of learning, the cradle of arts, 
the nurse of arms, sprang into being like a fairie of 
the sea, dazzled the world awhile with her splendor, 
and died by the hands of her own degenerate sons; 
Rome, the seven-hilled city, rose and flourished, 
and fell —fell a victim of her own internal profligacy 
and corruption; the Dark Ages, like a holocaust of 
ruin, swept over the world, leaving in their pathway 


ISO 


ADDRESSES. 


the wreck of crumbled thrones, broken sceptres, 
and ruined empires, from whose bloody and burn¬ 
ing debris has sprung the genius of a higher and 
nobler civilization; wars have desolated our earth; 
good ana evil have whirled and shifted in the mazy 
dance of time; sovereigns have fallen; princes have 
become plebeians, and plebeians, king; and yet 
through all these chequered centuries, through all 
the freaks of change, through all the shocks of time, 
the genius of Freemasonry has looked down, serene, 
dove-eyed and beautiful — above the storm, imper¬ 
vious to change, snatching life from death, hoping 
in the midst of despair,—and gathered strength 
and vitality from every hoary century that has 
rolled away. Its benign spirit 

Runs through ull space, extends through all extent, 

Spreads undivided, operates unspent.” 

Decay’s effacing fingers can never touch its 
hallowed vesture. When the last shock shall come 
to bury the nations in one universal heap of ruins, 
Masonry will then be found sustaining with its lib¬ 
erality, warming with its love, and blessing with its 
charity, every tongue and every people. But even 
then the spirit of our institution cannot be extin- 
guised. Above the wreck of matter and the crash 
of desolving planets, out of the smoke of annihilation, 
its seraphic Genius, immortal and indestructible, 
shall rise, Phoenix-like, and soar away triumphantly 
to the bosom of its Father and its God. 


ADDRESSES. 


181 


ADDRESS OF WELCOME. 


DELIVERED AT THE RE-UNION OF THE 9l’H KY., VOLUN¬ 
TEERS, INFANTRY, AT FOUNTAIN RUN, SEPT. 18, 

1885. 

Ladies and Gentlemen: 

I esteem it a very high honor to have been sel¬ 
ected by the committee in charge of these ceremon¬ 
ies to welcome this immense gathering of ex-soldiers 
and their friends. To appropriately speak the words 
of welcome to this great assemblage — made up as 
it is of the patriotism, the culture and the refine¬ 
ment of Southern Kentucky and Northern Tennes¬ 
see, as well as so many distinguished ex-soldiers 
and citizens of other States,—would require an elo¬ 
quence of which I am not the master. 

But in another sense it may be more fit and 
appropriate that 1 should bid you welcome. I have 
the honor and pleasure to know the people for 
whom I speak. My infancy and adolescent years 
have been spent among them. The people of 
Fountain Run and vicinity, the people of Western 
Monroe county, the people of Eastern Allen county, 
and the people of Macon county, in Tennessee, our 
sister State, were the companions of my youth, and 
have been the friends of my riper years. I know 
them well and have known them long. You may 



182 


ADDRESSES. 


start out from the centre of this thriving village, 
and go ten miles around in every direction; you 
may traverse the hills and valleys; you may visit 
the mansions, the cottages and the cabins, and you 
will find in your circuit as much true manhood and 
womanhood, as much zealous patriotism, as much 
flowing courtesy, and as much genuine and gener 
ous hospitality to the square inch, as can be found 
in an equal space on the globe we inhabit. In 
the name and by the authority of such a people as 
this, and in the name of the survivors of the gallant 
old Ninth Kentucky Regiment, I welcome the citi¬ 
zens of every State, and the soldiers of every army 
to this place and this occasion. 

Ladies, I cannot proceed further without paying 
to you the compliment you deserve to-day. I re¬ 
member the great poet Burns intimates that Nature 
was an apprentice when she made man, but a finished 
workman when she made you: 

“ Her ’prentice han' she tried on man, 

And then she made the woman.” 

You have been in every civilized age and 
country, and you are in this age and this country, 
regarded as the crowning piece of Nature’s work¬ 
manship. Without you in the beginning, the earth 
was a waste and a desert; the beams of the new-made 
sun were pale and wan; the hills were bleak, and 
the valleys were dark as the groves of fir on Huron’s 
dismal shore. I think the Creator must have looked 
abroad over the earth and seen the loneliness and 
felt the want of all nature for something higher, 
nobler, purer yet—some queen to wave over the 
barren world the genetle sceptre—and that then 
and thus He conceived the immaculate, the supreme 
idea of woman, and at once she sprang into life and 
being at the touch of his plastic hand. 


ADDRESSES. 


183 


♦* The world was sad, the garden was a wild, 

And man, the hermit, sighed till woman smiled.” 

You, ladies, are indispensable to an occasion 
like this. Your very presence insures peace and 
goQd order. You show by your coming your will¬ 
ingness to contribute light and joy to this vast 
audience in a social sense. You evince by your 
presence the interest you feel in the welfare of your 
country. You manifest the fact that you remember 
the dark days of the late unhappy civil strife, that 
you have not forgotten the perils it threw around 
our institutions, the sorrows, the blood and the 
treasures it cost our country, that you cherish fondly 
and tenderly the memory of those who perished in 
the struggle, and that you honor and applaud the 
brave and generous men, war-worn and battle- 
scarred, who survived the dread conflict, and who 
meet here to-day, from far and near, to renew the 
ties of former friendship, to grasp the hands and 
look into the faces of their comrades in arms, and 
to recount the “battles, sieges, fortunes that they’ve 
passed.” To you, ladies, we extend a heart-warm 
welcome. 

Since the foundation of the government there 
have been in this country, diverse views and theories 
as to the nature, scope and meaning of the Federal 
compact. The existence of these different views 
and opinions is distinctly traceable in the conven¬ 
tion that formed the Federal constitution. This 
difference among the statesmen of that time as to 
what was or should be the nature and extent of the 
compact, had much to do with the formation and 
alignment of parties during the two administrations 
of Washington; one school of politicians and states¬ 
men holding and teaching that the constitution of 
the United States was only an obligation, a com- 


184 


ADDRESSES. 


pact, made and entered into by sovereign States; 
t hat it was not, of necessity, perpetual, that it could 
only exist upon the will of the sovereign States 
concerned, and that any State feeling aggrieved, or 
understanding that lier rights were endangered by 
the operations of the Federal government, might 
withdraw from the Union; and, the other school of 
statesmen and politicians believing and teaching 
that the constitution of the country and the Union 
of the States was “ordained by the people of the 
United States, in order to form a more perfect 
Union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, 
provide for the common defense, promote the 
general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty 
to ourselves and our posterity,” and that the Union 
was intened to be, and must be perpetual. 

There can be no doubt that the institution of 
slavery had much to do with developing and foster¬ 
ing the doctrine of State sovereignty in this country. 
An “irrepressible conflict” had been waged for half 
a century between freedom and slavery. Patriotic 
public men from the North and from the South, 
saw the danger to our institutions from this agita¬ 
tion, and by wise compromises and generous 
concessions, the evils were momentarily averted, 
and the inevitable catastrophe postponed for a time. 
But like the pent-up waters that seek irresistably 
an outlet, this agitation went on, growing and in¬ 
creasing with the lapse of years. For more than 
three decades the advocates of slavery and State 
sovereignty, under the superb leadership of Mr. 
Calhoun, had confronted their opponents in the 
halls of Congress in splendid intellectual combat 
upon these vast problems of State. In the lead of 
the opposing forces stood that Ajax Telemon, that 
Hercules of debate, that matchless philosopher of 


ADDRESSES. 


185 


government, Daniel Webster. Ah! that was a 
battle of giants. But it settled nothing; and at 
last, in 1860 - 61 , on the election of Abraham Lincoln 
to the Presidency, eleven of the Southern States 
withdrew from the Union, established a separate 
government, organized immense armies, and sought 
to annul the constitution and the laws. 

It was thus that these vexed questions in the 
hands of the politicians and partisans of the country, 
in their mad strife for supremacy and power, 
brought the people of the United States into a great 
civil war. And just twenty-four years ago this 
great Republic of ours, at once the pride and the 
hope of the liberty-loving people of all the earth, 
stood trembling on the brink of dissolution and 
ruin. Theories had failed to save the country, 
parties had failed, statemanship had failed, and 
reason and remonstrance had failed. Those were 
days of awful dread and appalling danger. The 
cheek of patriotism was white with fear. Tottering 
age, sturdy manhood and prattling infancy stood 
appalled in the gloom of that awful hour. The op¬ 
pressed and down-trodden stranger from a foreign 
shore, gazed out over the waste of waters, and be¬ 
held the beacon light of our nationality burn dim 
and low as the tempest gathered, and hope died out 
in his heart. The old-world despotisms grinned 
in horrid glee at the perils that environed us, and 
laughed in fiendish triumph at our calamity. The 
murky billows of disunion and anarchy had rolled 
over and submerged every barrier, every shield of 
our institutions save one, and that last defense, that 
last great break-water was the prowess, the patrio 
tism of the great masses of the people. In the 
dread darkness of that hour, when all, all seemed 
lost, you, soldiers, sprang to the rescue, at your 


186 


ADDRESSES. 


country’s call, with as much alacrity, as fearless 
step and dauntless eye as ever distinguished Scottish 
clansman as he bounded to the side of Marmion or 
Douglas or Rhoderick Dhu. From the farms, the 
fields, the store-houses, the factories, the work-shops; 
from the hills and vales and mountains and far-off 
prairies, came the toiling millions to lift up the 
tattered and trailing banner, to plant it again on 
every height and battlement from the lakes to the 
gulf, to unfurl it again in every breeze, and to send 
it fluttering and flashing over every sea to earth’s 
remotest bounds, as the emblem of the freest, the 
noblest and the bravest people the world has ever 
known. 

The Ninth Regiment Kentucky Volunteers In¬ 
fantry, under whose auspices this reunion is held, 
was in part, recruited at camp Anderson, seven 
miles east of this place. Hundreds of you remem¬ 
ber to have seen the dense blue columns of smoke 
rise curling and spreading away on the upper air, 
one autumn day, twenty-four years ago, as the 
flames devoured camp Anderson. The Confederates, 
under Col. Sidney Stanton, having heard, as I 
suppose, that the boys of the Ninth had evacuated 
the camp and marched to Columbia, came over the 
line and set fire to the camps. These were the first 
Confederate soldiers that invaded this portion of 
our State. 

The Ninth was organized under Col. Ben. C. 
Grider at Columbia, Kentucky, and was mustered 
into the United States service on the 26 th day of 
November, 1861 . Having been attached to the 
11 th Bridgade of the Department of the Ohio, com¬ 
manded by Gen. Boyle, the regiment marched with 
the army by Bowling Green and Nashville and 
Columbia, Tennessee, to the world-renowned field 


ADDRESSES. 


187 


of Shiloh, and there received its first great baptism 
of fire and blood in the service of its country. The 
Ninth then marched with the army to Corinth, and 
after that place was evacuated advanced to Battle 
Creek, by way of Rienza, Iuka, Huntsville and 
Stephenson. From Battle Creek it went with the 
army in pursuit of Bragg to Mt. Vernon and Wild 
Cat and Crab Orchard and Somerset, in Kentucky; 
thence back to Nashville and Murfreesboro, and on 
to Chattanooga; thence to Dandridge and Knoxville, 
East Tennessee, and thence to Atlanta and to 
Jonesboro, Georgia. 

Its marches and counter-marches strung out 
would make a distance of more than four thousand 
miles traveled during the war. It was mustered 
into the service with 930 men, and by recruits and 
transfers afterwards, it reached the number of 1135. 
Of this number 57 were killed in battle, 251 dis¬ 
charged, 158 transferred and 252 died. Some 
were captured, some missing, and when at last the 
war drum ceased to beat and peace returned, there 
were left of this heroic legion 331 men, rank and 
file, who were mustered out at Louisville, 15th of 
December, 1864. 

The Ninth was among the most distinguished 
regiments in the army of the Cumberland, and was 
the subject of repeated praise from the department 
commanders. This Regiment, with many other 
Kentucky Regiments, surviving members of which 
are here to day, was engaged in fifteen pitched bat- 
tes and hundreds of skirmishes. Your muskets 
pealed and your bayonets flashed at historic Shiloh. 
You bore down upon and routed the gallant foemen 
at Stone River. You scaled the heights of Mis¬ 
sionary Ridge, and planted the old flag on its 
topmost peak at last. You saw the far flash of 


188 


ADDRESSES. 


the “ red artillery” at Pickett’s Mills and Lovejoy 
Station. With bayonets fixed and dauntless tread, 
you climbed the rugged steeps of Kennesaw Mount¬ 
ain, while it shook amid the throes of battle. Your 
guns thundered around the beleaguered walls of 
Atlanta and it fell. And you swept down like a 
whirlwind to the “red front of battle” on the im¬ 
mortal field of Chickamauga, amid the storm of 
shot and shell, till loud and long the victor-shout 
rolled over the sanguinary field. 

Soldiers of the Ninth, there are many memo¬ 
ries of the long, weary marches, of lonely nights 
when the earth was your bed, and the sky your 
covering — memories of battle-scenes and tragedies, 
that are engraved on your minds above the tide¬ 
mark of the Lethean wave. You will not, you 
cannot forget them. Perhaps some of you saw the 
gallant Hagan fall at Adairville, or Short, or Fulks 
at Kennesaw Mountain. Possibly some of you saw 
Pipkin or Faulkner or Walker or Pitcock stricken 
down at Shiloh. There may be some comrade here 
to-day, who bore the dying Holland, Star or May- 
hew from the hard-fought field of Pickett’s Mills. 
Some of you may have seen Dixon or Buchannan 
fall at Chickamauga. Perhaps some of you bore 
the dead or dying body of Bray or Tooley or En¬ 
gland or Borden or Jenkins or Murphy to the rear, 
when the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled 
over the awful field of Stone Biver. 

A few veterans of the famous Twenty-first 
Infantry, are with us to day. It was among the 
most conspicuous of Kentucky Regiments for its 
activity and gallantry. It received the highest en¬ 
comiums from its department commanders, one of 
whom said in a report that the members of this 
Regiment throughout the war “exhibited the high- 


ADDRESSES. 


189 


est qualities of the soldier.” At the expiration of 
their three years’ term of service, nearly all of the 
Regiment re-enlisted and became veterans in the 
service, thus showing the courage, the persistency 
and the patriotism of its men. As long as the fame 
of Perryville, Stone River, Chickamauga, Resaca, 
Pine Top, Atlanta, Jonesboro and Franklin remains, 
the heritage deserved and won by the Twenty-first 
will continue to flash out on the historic rolls of 
the State as part and parcel of its brightest glory. 

Here are survivors of the Thirty-seventh Ken¬ 
tucky Mounted Infantry. It was largely made up 
of the young men of the Central and Southern parts 
of the State, who grew into manhood during the 
first year or two of the war. They were as gallant 
men as ever waved a plume, or bore the warrior’s 
mail. Led on by its chivalrous officers, Hanson, 
Martin, Stone, Chinnowith, Strange, Roark, Mid¬ 
dleton, Read and White, it fought predatory bands 
all over the State. It encountered the great cav¬ 
alryman, Gen. John II. Morgan, at Cynthiana and 
Mount Sterling, and it bore a prominent part in the 
desperate engagement at Saltville in West Virginia. 

Here, also, are representatives of the famous 
old Fifth Cavalry, mingling with their old comrades, 
and renewing the friendships formed in “the times 
that tried men’s souls.” Soldiers of the Fifth, your 
history is full of glorious deeds from the first to the 
last of the war. You fought like Trojans at Gallatin, 
at Monroe’s Cross Roads, at Adairville, at Sweet 
Water and at Millen’s Cove; and besides you share 
in all the fame and glory of Sherman’s march to 
the sea. 

Scattered here and there in this great gathering 
are to be found a few battle-scarred veterans of 
the far-famed Wolford Cavalry. Among Kentucky 


190 


ADDRESSES. 


troops, they were first to respond to the clarion of 
tlieir county, and they were among the last to leave 
the service. The First Cavalry traveled as far, 
rested as little and fought as hard as any Regiment 
in the Federal service. The old u Mountain Eagle ” 
and his brave and trusty followers swooped down 
upon the enemy at all odd and unexpected times 
and places. They destroyed his wagon trains, 
tore up his railroads and bridges, devoured his 
pickets and foraging parties, captured his supplies 
and cut up the flower of his troops in more than 
one hundred battles and skirmishes. 

You old veterans saw Wolford and Adams and 
Helveti and Drye and Coffee and their men ride 
fast and furiously upon the ranks of “ foemen 
worthy of their steel” at Mill Springs and Knoxville 
and Dalton and Shiloh and Lost Mountain. And 
you were with the dashing and dauntless Adams 
when surrounded at Hillsboro, and his superior 
officers surrendering, he refused to sheath his sword 
or lower his plume. You heard his trumpet voice 
resound far over the field, calling on all to follow 
who had rather die than surrender. You all fol¬ 
lowed, and you saw the fiery circles of his gleaming 
battle-blade in the van of the intrepid host, as you 
cut the long wide lane through the surrounding 
ranks of the foe. 

But more than twenty years ago the bugle- 
blast of war died away on the field of Appomattox, 
and the curtain fell to rise no more on the long, 
dark drama of blood and tears. The two great 
problems of State that could never be settled short 
of the stern arbitrament of the sword, were settled 
forever, and they sleep henceforth in the tomb of 
the Capulets. The clangor of arms is heard no 
more in the land. The smoke has drifted from tliQ 


ADDRESSES. 


191 


scene, and “burnished sword and bayonet” lie 
rusting where, in the long gone years, they dripped 
with the life-biood of as knightly men as ever sum¬ 
moned foe to battle. 

Bujt alas! when “ grim-visaged war had 
smoothed his wrinkled front,” and dove-eyed peace 
resumed her reign, the whole land was rent with 
woe and mourning for the thousands of patriot 
husbands, fathers, sons and brothers who went forth 
to battle and returned no more. They gave up 
their lives for their country. Their graves are 
scattered from the broad Potomac to the turbid 
waters of the Pio Grande. On the rolls of their 
country's history their names are cut with diamonds 
and wreathed with sunbeams; and their memories 
live and flourish fresh and green in the hearts of 
their countrymen, their friends and their comrades 
in arms. 

On Fame’s eternal camping- ground 
Their silent tents are spread. 

And glory guards, with solemn round, 

The bivouac of the dead.” 

Time and reason and humanity have done 
their blessed work. We stand here to-day, twenty 
years after the war, amid this vast and joyous throng, 
beneath the white, the outspread wings of peace, 
and we rejoice to know that the antipathies and 
animosities born of the war have passed away and 
gone forever. The more we gaze back at the great 
struggle in the calm, dispassionate light of history, 
the more we realize that the Southern soldier was 
fighting for his convictions, his faith, his section,and 
for the idols of his home and his household. Soft¬ 
ened by the distance of the long look back, saddened 
at the memory of blackened fields and ruined homes, 
mindful that his cause was lost, and remembering 


192 


ADDESSES. 


his Spartan courage on every field, the Federal 
soldier forgets the asperities of the past, and thus 
the enemies of the olden time become the friends 
and brothers of to-day. 

There is no question about Union and Dis¬ 
union now. It was all settled twenty years ago. 
There is no u bloody chasm” to be bridged. Long 
years of peace have filled the chasm, and we walk 
to-day in firm paths where the cleft once yawned, 
and pluck the sweet flowers that have sprung up by 
the wayside. We are all Americans; all claim the 
same banner, and all love the same land. And I 
believe if this country should be threatened by a 
foreign foe, or the flag be insulted, that from the far- 
off savannas of Texas, to the rice-fields of the 
Carolinas, the Confederate soldier and his sons and 
grandsons would come sweeping to the rescue, and 
side by side with you and your children on the 
tented field, would sing Hail Columbia and Dixie 
and Tankee-Doodle beneath the grand old flag, and 
that they would strike for the country with a devo¬ 
tion as warm and a courage as lofty as the hero-sons 
of the colder clime. 

And now in closing,and speaking for the sol¬ 
diers and citizens of the North and South alike, I 
do invoke on our reunited country the choicest 
blessings of heaven. Land of Providence, Refuge 
of Freedom, Child of Prophecy! we all hail thee and 
bless thee to-day! Cradled in thine infancy along 
the wild wilderness that skirted the shores of the 
New World, with the bleak winds and the hoarse 
ravings of the sea thy weird, stern lullaby; break¬ 
ing the despot’s chain and shattering his yoke while 
yet in thy childhood; stumbling sometimes over 
new and unsolved problems of government; but 
rising from every fall like a young giant; plunging 


ADDRESSES. 


193 


through the maelstrom of a civil war whose battle¬ 
fields dimmed the luster of Austerlitz and Gena 
and Waterloo, but emerging from the vortex blaz¬ 
oned with glorious deeds and crowned with the 
fame of Lincoln and Grant, Lee and Sherman, 
Stephens and Garfield; coming forth from the wreck 
and ruins of the strife like a Phoenix from her 
ashes, and rising to grander heights and nobler 
achievements than ever dreamed of before; the 
Pride of the People, the Hope of Humanity/the 
Wonder of the World! — we all bless thee to day, 
from the frozen lakes to the sun-kissed waves*of the 
Southern Gulf. u We bless thee, and thou shalt be 
blessed!” 

Glorious United States! When the last hour 
of recorded time shall come—amid the throes of a 
dissolving world, may the American Union and the 
Constitution be seen towering sublime, above ’the 
consuming elements, Hike the last mountain in the 
deluge, majestic, immutable and magnificent.” 


194 


ADDRESSES. 


INTELLECTUAL CULTURE. 


ADDRESS BEFORE THE TEACHERS’ INSTITUTE OF MON¬ 
ROE COUNTY, KY., AUG. llTH, 1875. 

Young Ladies and Gentlemen: 

You will pardon me if, while I speak to you 
of intellectual culture, I should mingle with the 
humble fruitage of many years of patient thought, 
an occasional flower, or embellish now and then 
with a fancy touch, the staid and sober reasonings, 
which, in a measure, the subject and the occasion 
seem to demand. If in the material world we are 
scarcely more delighted with the substantial value 
of the fruit, the sweetness of the vintage, than with 
the beauty and fragrance of the flowers, then we 
may not inappropriately conclude that the sterner 
and more didactic trains of thought may, here and 
there, be garnished with an aesthetic pearl, or trel- 
lised with an occasional tendril, or festooned with 
flowers gathered from the ideal world. 

In treading as I do with unsandaled feet, the 
mazes of this hackneyed theme, and seeking to 
kindle a few pale watch-fires along the headlands 
of intellectuality, you will scarce expect me to find 
many virgin recesses, or discover many ungathered 
jewels; because the statesman’s pen, and the'tongue 
of the orator, and the poet’s harp have, for a thous¬ 
and years, been culling its fruits, plucking its flow- 



ADDRESSES. 


195 


ers, and waking its sweetest spell of melody. To¬ 
night it is my lot to follow in the path of cultured 
genius, to wander in a field from which the harvest 
has long been gathered; and, hence, an effort of mine 
to wreathe this topic with original beauties, would 
be like seeking for gems in an exhausted mine, or 
diving beneath “Omen’s green waters” for pearls 
brought up in the years that have gone. 

I assume in the outset that the beautiful, the 
useful, the honorable and the good, are tL*ngs most 
pleasing and desirable in this world. Beauty is the 
graces and proprieties which please the mind or the 
heart—an innate, ethereal spirit that pervades the 
universe — a something that was left us of the 
primal Eden. Usefulnessneeds only to bejmentioned 
to be appreciated for its own intrinsic worth. Honor 
is that which rightfully attracts esteem; it is excel¬ 
lence of character, high moral worth, manly virtue. 

»»’Tis the finest sense 

Of justice which the human mind can frame. 

Intent each lurking: frailty to disclaim. 

And guard the way of life from all offense. 

Suffered or done.” 

And goodness or virtue is that redeeming prin¬ 
ciple of our nature without which we could not 
serve our God or our country, or be happy ourselves, 
either in this life or the life that is to come. These 
things are preeminently desirable because they are 
the infallible sources of our usefulness and happi¬ 
ness here, as well as of our felicity in the future 
state. As we gaze with rapture upon the shadowy 
and varigated landscape; or look away upon the 
halo-glories of a gorgeous sunset; or listen, spell¬ 
bound, to the concord of sw'eet sounds; or sit down 
with Milton or Shakspeare, to taste and enjoy his 
ineffable sweets and beauties; or revel in the w T orld 


196 


ADDRESSES. 


of taste ami fancy,—we may justly attribute all we 
feel or enjoy to our sense of the beautiful. From 
such pleasures, together with conscious usefulness, 
honor and goodness, must be derived our tempo¬ 
ral happiness, as well as that lively hope of immor¬ 
tality which reaches beyond the Stygian river, and 
is anchored amid the splendors of the Better Land. 
And it is equally true that there can be no just and 
lasting fame which does not rest on the Tuscan 
pillars of usefulness, honor and virtue. It will be 
my object to-night to show you by an inductive 
method of reasoning, that these things may be at¬ 
tained by intellectual culture, and that without it, 
they cannot be expected or even hoped for. 

Without culture, without work, without a con¬ 
formation to the intellectual and moral laws of our 
being, there can be no beauty, no usefulnes, no 
fame, no happiness. These are all things of the 
mind; they exist in the mind or the heart. They 
are metaphysical or psychological substances, not 
material. Let me elaborate this thought. The rude 
highwayman, or the heartless brigand, could kill 
and rob the way.worn traveler, and laugh over his 
ill-gotten gains; but you would rather wander 
a blind, barefooted beggar over all the world than 
do such deeds. The wild, uncultured savage, al¬ 
though endowed by nature with passions, thoughts 
and feelings like to our own, could murder, in cold 
blood, defenseless, helpless women and children, 
and join in the horrid war-dance around their bloody 
scalps, while you would weep tears of wormwood 
to even witness the shocking scene. Whence comes 
this difference ? It comes from the mind ana heart, 
and results solely from difference of culture. 

Gaze, if you will, upon the canvas o’er which 
Raphael swept his immortal pencil! What a troop 


addresses. 


197 


of glorious fancies must stream over the soul! But 
remove the light, or close your eyes, and there is 
no such thing as beauty there, unless it is the beau¬ 
tiful memory. It cannot be that there is abstract, 
intrinsic beauty in the paint, the oil and varnish,— 
in the delicate blendings of the purple and green, 
and blue and gold, and light and shade; for many 
persons have admitted that they could not distin¬ 
guish one color from another, and yet their optics 
were as perfect as ours. The mellow music-tones 
that enrapture you, would fall like harsh, discordant 
sounds upon another’s ear; because those have lived 
and do live, who did not and do not appreciate or 
enjoy music. Go stand upon the brink of Niagara, 
and behold its oceanic flood as it plunges into the 
yawning abyss below ! A feeling of awful sub¬ 
limity will electrify your very being. But the 
sublime is not in the noise or the spray or the 
water. It is rather in the mind, and is aroused into 
vigorous action by the stupendous and awful scene. 

Usefulness is an intellectual quality, and an 
intellectual element. Its origin, its source, its seat 
is in the mind; although it may operate through 
the organism of the body. The patient, toiling son 
of science, who denies himself the comforts of life, 
spurns the witching voice of pleasure, disdains the 
siren song of ease, and wears out his life in dis¬ 
covering and revealing the mysteries of mind and 
matter, the splendors of art, the glories of nature,— 
owes all that he is and all that he does, to that 
hidden flame of thought, the immortal mind. The 
farmer in his field, the blacksmith at his anvil, the 
merchant at his counter, the professional man at 
his desk, the artist in his studio, each and all are 
guided at every step by cultured thought. Take, 
if you please, the rude block of marble, but recent- 


198 


ADDRESSES. 


ly unearthed from an Italian mountain side. Be¬ 
hold it, a rugged, shapeless mass of stone ! But 
when touched by the artist’s skillful hand, and cut 
and chiseled and fashioned after the beautiful ideal 
in the sculptor’s mind, it speaks in voiceless lan¬ 
guage, a truth that cannot be uttered, and glows 
with the witchery of unwonted beauty. The time¬ 
worn cenotaphs that gem the eastern classic-land, 
are but so many monuments to cultivated Grecian 
and Roman taste. 

What is it that inspires the hero of an hundred 
well-fought fields, with Freedom’s battle-flag in his 
strong right hand, to break the captive’s chains, to 
crush the despot’s throne, and tread his way through 
blood and carnage to victory and immortality ? Is 
all this mere brutum fullmen ? It cannot be ! But 
such deeds are rather the offspring of the great soul 
within, — the reflection, the outward expression of 
inbred heroism. It may not only be said that such 
deeds emanate from the mind, but it may be safely 
assumed that the mind alone can appreciate them, 
and that the extent of appreciation must bear a just 
proportion to the degree and kind of cultivation. 
Take, for instance, the battle of Waterloo, as por¬ 
trayed by the graphic and brilliant Headley. Im¬ 
agine on the one side nearly all of mighty Europe 
combined, with all her wealth and talent and num¬ 
bers, arrayed for the last decisive struggle. On the 
other, war-worn, impoverished France, headed by 
the once poor, little, obscure Corsican boy —the 
charity-scholar at Brienne, and then but lately let 
loose from Elba, his ocean prison. Behold the first 
Napoleon as he rides the field, an embodied spiri* 
of battle —a war-king throned above all others, ana 
once again in his native element! Regiments, 
batallions, divisions follow the wave of his hand, 


addresses. 


199 


the nod of his head. They separate, reunite, and 
close up for the fearful onset. And just as the 
earliest rays of the summer sun gild the verdant 
plain, the embattled hosts sweep down to the dread¬ 
ful harvest of death. They shout tlieir- battle 
paeans, which mingle with the strains of martial 
music, and cheer them on to the bloody work. 

Arms on armor clashing brayed 
Horrible discord, and the maddening wheels 
Of brazen chariots raged: dire was the noise.” 

The tramp of charging squadrons, the peal of 
musketry, the roar of cannon shake the earth around. 
Friend and foe, dead and dying, lie heaped and 
pent together. The sun looks down from the ze¬ 
nith, and still the equal conflict rages. The eve 
steals on apace, and still no ground is lost, no ground 
is won. Victory trembles in the balance! The 
decisive moment has come ! The French Old Guard 
has been kept in reserve to strike the final, tri¬ 
umphant blow, and turn the scale. One wave of 
the Emperor’s hand, and that living mass of valor 
sweeps like an Alpine avalanche down the battle- 
scarred plain, while above the clang of arms is 
heard their fearful battle slogan —“Vive la Em- 
pereur.” The tall, white plume of Marshal Ney, 
“the bravest of the brave,”is dancing like a thing 
of life in the van of the host. The eyes of the 
Emperor follow that waving, tossing plume; and as 
it flashes through the smoke of battle, he seems to 
see the star of his destiny again in the ascendant. 
The allied armies melt before that terrific host like 
snow-flakes in an April sun. Now they are panic- 
stricken, broken, divided,— already in full retreat. 
But, alas! for human hopes and prospects! Now 
are heard the thunders of Blucher’s cannon. He 


200 


ADDRESSES. 


has just reached the scene of action with thirty 
thousand fresh troops, and is pouring volley after 
volley upon the bleeding and exhausted Old Guard, 
which reels and staggers in the shock. The allied 
armies, wheeling into line, renew the charge. Now 
courage is vain, chivalry is an idle word. Mortal 
men could not long survive in such a maelstrom of 
death. The Old Guard was borne down and swept 
from the field, like chaff before a hurricane of 
flame. The star of Napoleon’s destiny then went 
out behind a sombre cloud, and with it the pride 
and glory of France. He must be more or less than 
man, who can read of Waterloo without catching 
the contagion of battle, and dropping a tear for the 
untimely fate of Napoleon Bonaparte. Hence we 
may justly conclude that the very essence of the 
heroic is to be found in the mind. 

Fameisdescribed by Hazlittasthe “sound which 
the stream of high thoughts, carried down to future 
ages, makes as it flows—deep, distant, murmuring 
evermore, like the waters of the mighty ocean.” 
The love of fame is called by phrenologists and 
metaphysicians, one of the passions of the human 
mind. If it be such an element of the mind, we 
are justifiable in regarding it a noble passion. I 
mean that fame which follows lofty thoughts and 
noble deeds. If the love of fame may be classed 
among the passions, it is one of the few that goes 
out beyond this mortal ken, and peers into the dim 
and mystic realm of the future. Fame is not the 
shout of the multitude; it is not the venal puff, the 
fleeting breath of popular favor. It results from 
the power of mind over mind; it is the universal 
homage which is paid to the vigor and beauty and 
worth of the mind; it is the evangelum of high 
thoughts, heralded by the voice of the great and 


addresses. 


201 


the good,— a fadeless and eternal thing that defied 
the Lethean wave. And, finally, it is the fruit aud 
sequence of tasteful, judicious, high-wrought, in¬ 
tellectual culture. 

Happiness is defined as an agreeable feeling 
or condition of the soul, arising from good of any 
kind. But a careful analysis of this feeling or 
sentiment will convince us that while it has its seat 
in the mind, it is not indiginious there. It is the 
product of other principles. He who has cultivated 
a taste for the beautiful; who hold a correct philos¬ 
ophy of life; who bears within his bosom the very 
soul of honor; who is conscious of the rectitude of 
all his purposes; who gives his time and talents to 
the service of his God; and who has the assurance 
of the gratitude and respect of all good men, must 
realize and enjoy whatever of tranquility and peace 
of mind, has been allowed us in this nether world. 
And, substantially on this ground, rests what men 
call happiness. Prudent intellectual culture will 
best supply the mind with those qualities and 
characteristics which produce the highest order of 
human happiness. 

It has been said and ingeniously argued, by 
some skeptical philosophers, that happiness is the 
object and end of our being. Happiness, in this 
system of philosophy, means the gratification of the 
senses. But this false theory is rapidly giving way 
to the light of Christianity and revealed truth. This 
doctrine is but an offshoot of infidelity; it is opposed 
to the Bible; it cultivates the passions and appetites, 
to the exclusion of the sentiments and moral feel¬ 
ings; and it has never been adopted or practiced by 
an individual or a people, without producing the 
most ruinous consequences. Turn over a few pages 
of French history. Beautiful, floral, sunny France! 


202 


ADDRESSED. 


Twin sister of Italy ! Meet nurse for fair women 
and brave men !— 

« The land of the cedar and vine. 

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; 

Where the light wings of zephyr, oppressed with perfume 
Wax faint o’er the gardens of Gul in her bloom ! 

Where the citron and orange are fairest of fruit. 

And the voice of the nightingale never is mute.” 

France with her fruity hills and radiant clime; 
her wealth and beauty, learning and genius, wit 
and humor, could not be inviting, or happy, or 
prosperous while bearing in her bosom the poison 
of infidelity. Toward the close of the last century, 
France was a nation of infidels. They spurned the 
Bible, scorned Christianity, and mocked at the Cre¬ 
ator. A great scourge came upon them. The 
revolution broke out with all its demoniac fury. 
The royal head of Louis fell from the scaffold to 
the ground. Madam Roland bowed her head upon 
the block, exclaiming— “ Oh ! Liberty, what crimes 
are committed in thy name.” The rack, the knout, 
the guillotine were invented, and long did they ply 
their horrid work. The streets of Baris, the hills and 
vales of France ran blood, while the world stood 
aghast with speechless horror, and turned sick at 
the murderous scene. Here we have a fearful il¬ 
lustration of that false intellectual culture which 
rejects the Bible, and ignores the duty of man to 
his God. If the foregoing propositions and as¬ 
sumptions are correct, it follows that our apprecia¬ 
tion of the beautiful in nature and art, our useful¬ 
ness, our fame, and our happiness, depend largely, 
if not entirely, upon the nature and extent of our 
education. 

A brief allusion, now, to what seems the most 
essential elements of this culture, will close the 


ADDRESSES. 


203 


address. To educate tlie mind is to expand it, 
strengthen it, and so direct it that it may, through 
all its course, seek for, discover, appreciate and 
love the truth. It is to discipline it, to teach it what 
to do, and what to abstain from; to endow it with 
prudent control over all of its own operations; and 
to enable it to collect and concentrate all its energies. 
It is to teach the senses to observe, the memory to 
retain, the reason to reflect and judge, and to accept 
what is true, and reject what is false. It is to pluck 
out from the heart the weeds of vice, and implant 
in their stead the flowers of virtue. It is to har¬ 
monize all the conflicting elements of thought, r and 
place conscience and moral rectitude on its throne, 
to direct and govern all its operations. 

And, first, let me promise that the great at¬ 
tainments in life of which we have been speaking, 
do not come to us accidentally. Work is a condi¬ 
tion of our existence. There is no excellence with¬ 
out it. Industry is the only sure pathway to success. 

“ The heights by great men reached and kept 

Were not attained by sudden flight; 

But they, while their companions slept. 

Were toiling upward in the night.” 

It has been said that the gods help the man 
who helps himself. Strip this branch of the subject 
of all surplus verbiage; lop off all the garniture of 
words; simmer it down to its primary elements; 
and it may all be embraced in these words —pluck 
and plod. These are glorious, hopeful words! 
Write them on the tablets of the heart; pencil them 
on the very dome of thought, and they will shine 
on and scatter the*gloom of adversity, and flash out 
like burning suns in the darkness of defeat. They 
are like the philosopher's stone, which turns all it 
touches into gold. They form a bridge over yawn- 


204 


ADDRESSES. 


ing chasms, a ladder up beetling rocks and frowti- 
ing mountains. Make them your talisman in the 
great life-battle, and they will guide you to a final 
and glorious triumph. Imbued with these sterling- 
traits of character, with this vim and courage to d<> 
and to dare, and this patient dogged resolution to 
plod through all the details of brave work, you may 
commence or continue your acquisition of knowledge 
with the high assurrance that the cloud before you, 
however dark, is streaked with a silver lining, and 
arched with a bow of promise. Energy does a 
great work. It makes the desert bloom like a gar¬ 
den; it cuts away mountains, it traverses rivers and 
lakes; it whitens the ocean with commerce; it paves 
the mighty iron highways from East to West, from 
North to South; and it drives away the clouds that 
gather around the friendless, homeless boy, and 
invites him to a palace. 

You will find, also, that habits of close obser¬ 
vation and reflection upon all you see and hear and 
read, will be vastly conducive to your rapid accu¬ 
mulation of valuable and substantial knowledge. 
Learn to closely observe and diligently study every 
passing event, every exhibition of human passion, 
thought, or sentiment, and draw from thence a les¬ 
son or a moral. Walk boldly into the great store¬ 
house of nature, and plunder it of its unwasted 
treasures. Though prophets and sages, wits and 
scholars, poets and orators, have been twining its 
wreathes of flowers, and gathering its fruits of gold, 
for hundred of ages, yet, it is still flowing with 
nectar, and teeming with ambrosia. The volume 
of nature is a vast, unlettered, unbound book, always 
thrown open, and surpassing in its great, grand 
lessons all the books of men. 

No course of intellectual culture is complete, 


ADDRESSES. 


205 


which fails to carry with it and inculcate that best 
and highest courage which enables the man to follow 
his convictions of right and duty in the face of an 
opposing world. The dwarfish cringing, dastardly, 
pulsillanimous, time-serving hypocrite, who is ever 
ready to 

•• Bend the supple hinges of the knee. 

That thrift may follow fawning,” 

may strut and fret his vagrant little hour on the 
stage of popular favor; he may bask for one mo¬ 
ment in the sunshine of vulgar laudation, only to be 
obscured and blotted out forever in the next; but 
he can no more work himself into the Temple of 
Fame, than Dives could cross the gulf that separates 
him from the righteous Abraham. If you would be 
a man you should expect at every turn that 
knaves and scavengers will pelt you with mud and 
dirt; for contumely and slander do love a shining 
mark. Dr. Young has the idea exactly— 

«. With fame, in just proportion, envy grows; 

The man who makes a character makes foes; 

Slight, peevish insects round a genius rise, 

As a bright day awakes the world of flies.” 

When Kepler first announced the laws that 
govern the planetary worlds, he was ridiculed as a 
vain and ignorant enthusiast. Columbus said the 
earth was round, and was hissed and laughed at as 
a fool. Even Shakespeare, the great pioneer of 
English taste and learning, was so little appreciated 
in his day, that scarcely any reliable account of his 
life was preserved. Armed with conscious truth 
and rectitude move on, then. Do not stop to kick 
every cur that snaps at you. Be willing to take 
upon you a share of the great work of reform which 
Divinity has appointed unto this generation. Kin- 


206 


ADDRESSES. 


die jour Drummond-liglits upon the distant mount¬ 
ain tops. Go out, far out in front, where no man 
ever dared to tread, where the lights jet fail to 
shine, and with the voice of Stentor, and the look 
of Jove when he grasped the thunder, shout to the 
drowsy world “Come on!” Dare to enter the 
tournament amid plumed and visored warriors; and 
fear not to break a lance with mailed giants in the 
battle. It is better to wear awaj in the glorious 
strife than rust awaj in ignoble ease! You had 
better go down like a gallant ship on the far-off, 
tempest-beaten reef, than graduallj rot and waste 
awaj in port! 

»* Still something 1 cheers the heart that dares. 

In all of human kind.” 

If jou would build high and firm, dig deep in 
the mines of knowledge for jour foundation, and 
jour roof shall reach the very heavens. Have a 
waj of jour own; think for jourself; wear you own 
colors through wind and weather, storm and sun¬ 
shine. It will cost jou ten times the trouble to 
twist and turn and vascillate to suit other people, 
that it will to stand jour ground like a man. If 
you have a grand idea, develop it into words and 
deeds. Be not content with mediocrity. Press 
forward and upward to the top. There you will 
have room to swing your arms. There is no dan¬ 
ger of being crowded up there. Husband your 
resources; utilize all your strength. Gather all 
your inherent, original, nativeforce, and concentrate 
it in one single focus, until it burns and blazes 
bright as the flames that lit the storied altar of 
Yesta. If the world should seem a wintry vale of 
clouds and gloom, smile till rainbows span it. In¬ 
fuse into cheerless hearts around you, gleams of 


ADDRESSES 


207 


your own trust and courage; and bear always in 
mind that sorrow’s turbid stream, though it should 
roll around you, is destined, somewhere in the fa : 1 
dim vista, to mingle with hope’s bright river. 

Appreciating what it takes to constitute an 
education, endued with a just ambition of excel¬ 
lence, detirmined to work, willing to wait, and 
trained to observe and reflect, you are ready to delve 
into the sciences, and to commence the initial work 
of that extensive general reading, from which must 
be drawn so large a portion of your solid attain¬ 
ments. The mathematical sciences will strengthen 
and unfold the mind, expand its grasp, and train it 
to that patient attention,that persistent pursuit, 
and that exhaustive analysis, by which alone truth 
is discovered, and error exposed. Without the study 
of language you would be unable to think correctly 
or profoundly, much less to convey your thoughts 
to others in a clear, forcible and elegant style. 
Language has been called the vehicle of thought. 
But it would perhaps be more accurate to say that 
thought is language. No one need hope or expect 
to build up a lofty fabric of thought, whose massive 
walls and fluted columns and graceful arches and 
chiseled cornice-work, would astonish and delight 
the world, without first laying its foundations deep 
and well in the elements of language. 

Much depends upon your choice of books. 
You will, of course, select them chiefly with a view 
to the calling, occupation or profession you expect 
to follow. But, beyond this, you will desire and 
you will need a fund of general information,and a 
store of polite culture, which will always serve as 
valuable subsidiary aids in every walk of life. 
These are to be gathered from miscellaneous books. 
The minds, the hearts, and the intellectual develop- 


208 


ADDRESSES. 


ments of different persons, arc so varied, and often 
so antagonistic, that not even general rules could 
be laid down upon the selection of books, without 
being subject to many and serious exceptions. Let 
it be sufficient lieie to state that the science of man, 
as developed by philosophy, history and the fairy 
frost-work of poetry, will be found most useful and 
instructive, and best calculated to ripen the judg¬ 
ment and purify the heart. In all you read, let it 
be your object to prefer the substantial and the use¬ 
ful to the imaginative and the pleasing. Grasp the 
substance rather than the shadow of things. But 
beware of current literature ! It does seem that we 
live in an age of corrupted public taste. The great 
masters of fiction, such as Richardson and Fielding 
and Defoe and Cervantes and Scott, have apparent¬ 
ly been swept from public view by this modern 
flood of “Yellow-backed literature.” 

The press of Europe and America is teeming 
with twenty-five cent novels, in which love degen¬ 
erates into a beastly passion, treachery meets you 
at every turn, and murder stalks in gibing spectres 
before you ! This stream of morai and intellectual 
corruption reaches almost every household and per¬ 
verts and poisons the youthful mind. It stuffs and 
bloats the imagination with its morbid images; it 
depraves the taste, it impairs the judgment; it viti¬ 
ates the heart; and it unfits the man or woman for 
the ordinary details and the sober realities of life. 
When we behold the grievous spectacle of wealth 
and- rank, wit and wisdom, thought and genius, 
pandering to this impure taste, and even contribu¬ 
ting to this poisoned stream, we are made to fear 
that we, as a people, are drifting, aimless and helm¬ 
less, to that wild sea of extravagance, dissipation 
and passion, beneath whose whirling, seething 


ADDRESSES. 


209 


waves so many men and nations and empires have 
gone down like shattered ships to rise no more. 

Never cultivate the imagination to the exclusion 
of the judgement. While you take an occasional 
excursion into the ideal world in search of the pic¬ 
turesque and beautiful, you should never let go the 
sober moorings of reason and common-sense. Many 
bright geniuses have made this mistake, many a 
gallant barque, freighted with high hope and glori¬ 
ous promise, has gone down on this fatal rock. 
Take Byron for instance,—of whom it has been said 
that nations heard, entranced, when he touched his 
harp. 

** As some vast river of unfailing source. 

Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his members flowed; 

And ope’d new fountains in the human heart.” 

Born to titles and luxurious life, he began in 
early youth to feed his fancy on etheral flame. He 
traveled far, and mused on ancient battle-fields and 
gray old ruins; paused within the shadow of the 
Coliseum, and rested on Tiber’s classic banks; stood 
on the Alps, and on the Appenines; talked with the 
night and storm, and “wove his garland of the 
lightning’s fiery wing.” But with all his rank and 
opportunities, with all his exuberance of fancy, his 
reason and his morals had been neglected, and they 
were overgrown with rank weeds. The fountain of 
his heart was contaminated, his fancy ran wild, and 
the stream of his life was bitter. Shelly, with his 
amazing gifts, pursuing his imagination and neglect¬ 
ing his reason, carried thought to such skyey heights 
that the mind, in attempting to follow him, grows 
dizzy and turns away. The inimitable beauties of 
Moore consist of a wilderness of flowers, a forest 
of bloom and fragrance, in which can be found but 
little fruit, and scarce a cultivated field. 


210 


ADDRESSES. 


But paramount to all is the duty to cultivate 
your moral sentiments. It may be said that this is 
the highest duty you owe to yourselves, your country 
and your God. Without this, cultured genius is 
often a curse instead of a blessing. You may be a 
Nestor in worldly lore, a “ Titan throned above 
Titans;” your celestial armory of thought may be 
decked with gems and glittering with diamonds; 
your wit may be gleaming as a Persian cimeter, 
keen and deadly as a Damascus blade; your words 
may be clouds of fire, your thoughts great pyramids 
of flame; and yet without moral culture, you cannot 
be completely useful, completely safe, or completely 
happy. History teems with illustrations of this 
truth. Take Yoltaire, that brightest jewel in the 
diadem of French learning. With all his vast eru¬ 
dition, with all his magnificelit talents, with all his 
luxuriant fancy, he was neither a useful nor happy 
man. All creeds, all thoughts, all that was dear, 
all that was sacred, the things of time, the things 
of eternity, he tossed about like withered leaves, 
then smiled upon the ruin he had wrought. There 
was the princely Sheridan, the companion of Fox 
and Pitt and Burke,— he of whom the bard has said, 
that, as we gaze on all he has left us, we do so 

** Sighing that nature formed but one such man. 

And broke the die in molding Sheridan.” 

But he heeded not the voice of inspiration. 
He haunted the festal board, joined in the Baccha¬ 
nalian revel, sought to drown his cares in the wine- 
cup, and like a giddy, wayward child, rushed on 
down the flowery thoroughfare to ruin. As we turn 
sorrowfully to his life’s gloomy evening, we see him 
the pale, haggard wreck of genius, and find that 
the luminary of his reason has gone out forever. 


ADDRESSES. 


211 


But we have an example nearer home, in the 
gifted son of a sister state. Nature seemed to have 
lavished on him her choicest blessings. He was 
tall, commanding and “graceful as the willow 
on the banks of the Shannon.” He stood in the 
common ranks of men, like Jura amid the lesser 
Alps. His form and features were cast in beauty’s 
classic mold. His voice was melody itself,—now 
low and soft, and sweet as the distant lute at even¬ 
tide,— now deep and harsh as the far-off thunder- 
tones; and then in the onslaught of debate, when 
he challenged the foe to battle, it was sonorous, 
loud and ringing as the victor-shout of the olden 
Roman gladiator. He was a paragon among ora¬ 
tors; and his polemic engagements will long be re¬ 
membered by those who heard him, as the most 
magnificently eloquent ever delivered on the Am¬ 
erican hustings. He could take a brilliant poem 
and invest it with a beauty of which the author 
never dreamed. He was the model of honor, the 
soul of chivalry, as polished and courteous as Stan¬ 
hope, and as brave as Julius Caesar. But he was 
human, he was tempted, he could not resist the si¬ 
ren voice of the enchantress, and he is fallen ! The 
last wail of his broken harp comes to us from a 
maniac’s cell, and tells us of the great mind in ruins: 

•» I’m adrift on life’s ocean, and wildly I sweep. 

Aimless and helmless, its fathomless deep: 

The wild winds assail me, it threat’ningiy storms. 

The clouds roll around me in hideous forms; 

I drift to a lee-shore I I strike! am aground! 

The mad waters ’whelm me! I drown I oh, I drown! 

I wander life’s desert, lone, desolate, sad. 

Faint, reeling and weary, I’m mad! oh, I'm mad! ” 

Cultivate your moral faculties and they will 
shield you and save you from temptation; they will 
be a light to guide you amid the snares of the world, 


212 ADDRESSES. 

and lead you in all the ways of usefulness; and then 
when the final summons comes, you can go to walk 
where the bright waters shimmer in the Paradise 
of God —where the stars glitter and the angels sing. 

While I might seem to address myself to men, 
I would not be understood as unmindful of women. 
The touching words of tribute paid to woman’s 
worth and influence, by my eloquent young friend, 
Mr. Muncie, last night, are still ringing in my ears 
and sounding down the corridors of my heart, like 
the receding echoes of some delightful melody. 
Woman is the peer of man in all that is chivalrous 
and heroic, and his superior in all that is virtuous 
and graceful and lovely. She has walked like a 
queen through all the aisles and avenues of learn¬ 
ing. She has touched the golden harp of song, and 
the breeze has wafted its glorious melody round 
and round the world. She has gone down into the 
limpid ocean of pure literature, nestled like a Neriad 
among the coral reefs of beauty, then coming forth 
she has dashed from her glittering ringlets the gol¬ 
den drops of thought. She has set before the world 
goblets brimming with waters from the fabled font 
of Helicon, and woven Parnassian flowers into chap¬ 
lets of surpassing beauty. Wherever she has been 
freed from the rude manacles of a barbarous con¬ 
ventionalism, she has bounded like a modern Ata- 
lanta into the agonistic arena, and snatched the 
well-earned baldric from her wondering and doubt¬ 
ing brother. Joan of Arc performed deeds of 
heroic daring beside which the feats of Darius or 
Alexander or Wellington grow dim and lustreless. 
Samson, the Ajax of Israel, was invincible to all the 
Philistine armies, but he was at last overpowered 
by the subtle stratagy of a weak, fragile girl, and 
was shorn of his strength by the jeweled hand of 


AbDftESSES. 


m 

the Sorek maiden. Anthony madly threw a world 
away to bask in the smiles of Cleopatra, that glo¬ 
rious “sorceress of the Nile.” The fairy hand of 
Clio has emblazoned her splendid names on his¬ 
tory’s fairest pages. There are Felicia Hemans and 
Emma Southworth and Hannah Moore and Catha¬ 
rine Sedgwick and Mary Howitt and George Eliot 
and Miss Mulock and Madame de Stael — a galaxy 
of immortal names. I hold that woman is not only 
capable of receiving, but is entitled to receive the 
highest degree of intellectual culture. 

To your excellent commissioner, Mr. Eubank, 
whose learning and labors reflect such credit upon 
our county and its common schools, to the educated 
teachers assembled here, and to each one of this 
vast audience, I must return my sincere thanks. 






















# 


































































































































- 














































* 








, ' 

. 












